Fellow, and Gold Medallist, of the Royal Geographical Society of London.

To the best of our knowledge, the text of this
work is in the “Public Domain” in Australia.
HOWEVER, copyright law varies in other countries, and the work may
still be under copyright in the country from which you are accessing this website.
It is your responsibility to check the applicable copyright laws
in your country before downloading this work.

eBooks@Adelaide
The University of Adelaide Library
University of Adelaide
South Australia 5005

Table of Contents

The party. Port Augusta. The road. The Peake. Stony plateau. Telegraph station. Natives formerly hostile. A new
member. Leave the Peake. Black boy deserts. Reach the Charlotte Waters Station. Natives' account of other natives.
Leave last outpost. Reach the Finke. A Government party. A ride westward. End of the stony plateau. A sandhill region.
Chambers' Pillar. The Moloch horridus. Thermometer 18°. The Finke. Johnstone's range. A night alarm. Beautiful trees.
Wild ducks. A tributary. High dark hill. Country rises in altitude. Very high sandhills. Quicksands. New ranges. A
brush ford. New pigeon. Pointed hill. A clay pan. Christopher's Pinnacle. Chandler's Range. Another new range. Sounds
of running water. First natives seen. Name of the river. A Central Australian warrior. Natives burning the country.
Name a new creek. Ascend a mountain. Vivid green. Discover a glen and more mountains. Hot winds, smoke and ashes.

Milk thistle. In the glen. A serpentine and rocky road. Name a new creek. Grotesque hills. Caves and caverns.
Cypress pines. More natives. Astonish them. Agreeable scenery. Sentinel stars. Pelicans. Wild and picturesque scenery.
More natives. Palm-trees. A junction in the glen. High ranges to the north. Palms and flowers. The Glen of Palms.
Slight rain. Rain at night. Plant various seeds. End of the glen. Its length. Krichauff Range. The northern range.
Level country between. A gorge. A flooded channel. Cross a western tributary. Wild ducks. Ramble among the mountains.
Their altitude. A splendid panorama. Progress stopped by a torrent and impassable gorge.

The Rebecca. The Petermann range. Extraordinary place. The Docker. Livingstone's Pass. A park. Wall-like hills. The
Ruined Rampart. Pink, green, and blue water. Park-like scenery. The Hull. A high cone. Sugar-loaf Peak. Pretty hills
and grassy valleys. Name several features. A wild Parthenius. Surprise a tribe of natives. An attack. Mount Olga in
view. Overtaken by the enemy. Appearance of Mount Olga. Breakfast interrupted. Escape by flight. The depot. Small
circles of stone. Springs. Mark a tree. Slaughter Terrible Billy. A smoke signal. Trouble in collecting the horses. A
friendly conference. Leave Sladen Water. Fort McKellar. Revisit the Circus. The west end of the range. Name two
springs.

Gibson and I depart for the west. His brother with Franklin. Desert oaks. Smoked horse. Ants innumerable. Turn two
horses back. Kegs in a tree. No views. Instinct of horses. Sight a distant range. Gibson's horse dies. Give him the
remaining one. The last ever seen of him. Alone in the desert. Carry a keg. Unconscious. Where is the relief party. A
dying wallaby. Footfalls of a galloping horse. Reach the depot. Exhausted. Search for the lost. Gibson's Desert.
Another smoke-house. Jimmy attacked at Fort McKellar. Another equine victim. Final retreat decided upon. Marks of
floods. Peculiarity of the climate. Remarks on the region. Three natives visit us.

Depart for civilisation. The springs at the pass. Farewell to Sladen Water. The Schwerin Mural Crescent. The return
route. Recross the boundary line. Natives and their smokes. A canine telegram. New features. The Sugar-loaf. Mount Olga
once more. Ayers' Rock. Cold weather. A flat-topped hill. Abandon a horse. A desert region. A strange feature. Lake
Amadeus again. A new smoke-house. Another smoked horse. The glue-pot. An invention. Friendly natives. A fair and
fertile tract. The Finke. A white man. A sumptuous repast. Sale of horses and gear. The Charlotte. The Peake. In the
mail. Hear of Dick's death. In Adelaide. Concluding remarks.

Leave Fowlers Bay. Camels and horses. A great plain. A black romance. An oasis. Youldeh. Old Jimmy. Cockata blacks.
In concealment. Flies, ants, and heat. A line of waters to the east. Leave depot. The camels. Slow progress. Lose a
horse loaded with water. Tinkle of a bell. Chimpering. Heavy sand-dunes. Astray in the wilds. Pylebung. A native dam.
Inhuman mutilations. Mowling and Whitegin. The scrubs. Wynbring. A conspicuous mountain. A native family. March
flies.

Leave Wynbring. The horses. Mountains of sand. Mount Finke. One horse succumbs. Torchlight tracking. Trouble with
the camels. A low mount. Dry salt lagoons. 200 miles yet from water. Hope. Death of Chester. The last horse. A steede,
a steede. Ships of the desert. Reflections at night. Death or Water. The Hermit Hill. Black shepherds and
shepherdesses. The Finniss Springs. Victims to the bush. Footprints on the sands of time. Alec Ross. Reach Beltana.

Ooldabinna depot. Tietkens and Young go north. I go west. A salt expanse. Dense scrubs. Deposit two casks of water.
Silence and solitude. Native footmarks. A hollow. Fine vegetation. A native dam. Anxiety. A great plain. A dry march.
Return to the depot. Rain. My officers' report. Depart for the west. Method of travelling. Kill a camel. Reach the dam.
Death or victory. Leave the dam. The hazard of the die. Five days of scrubs. Enter a plain. A terrible journey. Saleh
prays for a rock-hole. A dry basin at 242 miles. Watering camels in the desert. Seventeen days without water. Saved.
Tommy finds a supply. The Great Victoria Desert. The Queen's Spring. Farther still west.

Depart for Mount Churchman. Yellow-barked trees. Wallaby traps. Sight a low hill. Several salt lakes. Another hill.
Camels bogged. Natives' smoke. Bare rocks. Grass-trees. Clayey and grassy ground. Dryness of the region. Another mass
of bare rocks. A pretty place. Crows and native foot-tracks. Tommy finds a well. Then another. Alone on the rocks.
Voices of the angels. Women coming for water. First natives seen. Arrival of the party. Camels very thirsty but soon
watered. Two hundred miles of desert. Natives come to the camp. Splendid herbage. A romantic spot. More natives arrive.
Native ornaments. A mouthpiece. Cold night. Thermometer 32°. Animals' tracks. Natives arrive for breakfast. Inspection
of native encampment. Old implements of white men in the camp. A lame camel. Ularring. A little girl. Dislikes a
looking-glass. A quiet and peaceful camp. A delightful oasis. Death and danger lurking near. Scouts and spies. A
furious attack. Personal foe. Dispersion of the enemy. A child's warning. Keep a watch. Silence at night. Howls and
screams in the morning. The Temple of Nature. Reflections. Natives seen no more.

Depart from Ularring. Re-enter scrubs. Scrubs more dense. A known point. Magnetic rocks. Lowans' eggs. Numbers of
the birds. Crows, hawks. Natives and water. Induce natives to decamp. Unusually vigorous growth of scrubs. Alec sights
Mount Churchman. Bronze-winged pigeons. Pigeon Rocks. Depart. Edge of a cliff. Mount Churchman in view. Some natives
arrive. A wandering pet. Lake Moore. Rock-holes. Strike old dray tracks. An outlying sheep-station. The first white man
seen. Dinner of mutton. Exploring at an end. Civilisation once more. Tootra. All sorts and conditions come to interview
us. A monastery. A feu-de-joie. The first telegraph station. Congratulatory messages. Intimations of receptions. A
triumphal march. Messrs. Clunes Brothers. An address. Culham. White ladies. Newcastle. A triumphal arch. A fine tonic.
Tommy's speech. Unscientific profanity. Guildford on the Swan. Arrival at Perth. Reception by the Mayor. The city
decorated. Arrival at the Town Hall. A shower of garlands. A beautiful address. A public reception at Fremantle. Return
to Perth. And festivities. Remarks.

Depart for the south. Arrive at Beltana. Camels returned to their depot. The Blinman Mine. A dinner. Coach journey
to the Burra-Burra Mines. A banquet and address. Rail to Adelaide. Reception at the Town Hall. A last address. Party
disbanded. Remarks. The end.

Author's Notes.

The original journals of the field notes, from which the present narrative is compiled, were published, as each
expedition ended, as parliamentary papers by the Government of the Colony of South Australia.

The journals of the first two expeditions, formed a small book, which was distributed mostly to the patrons who had
subscribed to the fund for my second expedition. The account of the third, found its way into the South Australian
Observer, while the records of the fourth and fifth journeys remained as parliamentary documents, the whole
never having appeared together. Thus only fragments of the accounts of my wanderings became known; and though my name
as an explorer has been heard of, both in Australia and England, yet very few people even in the Colonies are aware of
what I have really done. Therefore it was thought that a work embodying the whole of my explorations might be
acceptable to both English and Colonial readers.

Some years have been allowed to elapse since these journeys were commenced; but the facts are the same, and to those
not mixed up in the adventures, the incidents as fresh as when they occurred.

Unavoidably, I have had to encounter a large area of desert country in the interior of the colonies of South
Australia, and Western Australia, in my various wanderings; but I also discovered considerable tracts of lands watered
and suitable for occupation.

It is not in accordance with my own feelings in regard to Australia that I am the chronicler of her poorer regions;
and although an Englishman, Australia has no sincerer well-wisher; had it been otherwise, I could not have performed
the work these volumes record. It has indeed been often a cause of regret that my lines of march should have led me
away from the beautiful and fertile places upon Australia's shores, where our countrymen have made their homes.

On the subject of the wonderful resources of Australia I am not called upon to enlarge, and surely all who have
heard her name must have heard also of her gold, copper, wool, wine, beef, mutton, wheat, timber, and other products;
and if any other evidence were wanting to show what Australia really is, a visit to her cities, and an experience of
her civilisation, not forgetting the great revenues of her different provinces, would dispel at once all previous
inaccurate impressions of those who, never having seen, perhaps cannot believe in the existence of them.

In the course of this work my reader will easily discover to whom it is dedicated, without a more formal statement
under such a heading. The preface, which may seem out of its place, is merely such to my own journeys. I thought it due
to my readers and my predecessors in the Australian field of discovery, that I should give a rapid epitome (which may
contain some minor errors) of what they had done, and which is here put forward by way of introduction.

Most of the illustrations, except one or two photographs, were originally from very rough sketches, or I might
rather say scratches, of mine, improved upon by Mr. Val Prinsep, of Perth, Western Australia, who drew most of the
plates referring to the camel expeditions, while those relating to the horse journeys were sketched by Mr. Woodhouse,
Junr., of Melbourne; the whole, however, have undergone a process of reproduction at the hands of London artists.

To Mrs. Cashel Hoey, the well-known authoress and Australian correspondent, who revised and cleared my original
manuscripts, I have to accord my most sincere thanks. To Mr. Henniker-Heaton, M.P., who appears to be the Imperial
Member in the British Parliament for all Australia, I am under great obligations, he having introduced me to Mr.
Marston, of the publishing firm who have produced these volumes. I also have to thank Messrs. Clowes and Sons for the
masterly way in which they have printed this work. Also Messrs. Creed, Robinson, Fricker, and Symons, of the publishing
staff. The maps have been reproduced by Weller, the well-known geographer.

Introduction.

Before narrating my own labours in opening out portions of the unknown interior of Australia, it will be well that I
should give a succinct account of what others engaged in the same arduous enterprise around the shores and on the face
of the great Southern Continent, have accomplished.

After the wondrous discoveries of Columbus had set the Old World into a state of excitement, the finding of new
lands appears to have become the romance of that day, as the exploration by land of unknown regions has been that of
our time; and in less than fifty years after the discovery of America navigators were searching every sea in hopes of
emulating the deeds of that great explorer; but nearly a hundred years elapsed before it became known in Europe that a
vast and misty land existed in the south, whose northern and western shores had been met in certain latitudes and
longitudes, but whose general outline had not been traced, nor was it even then visited with anything like a systematic
geographical object. The fact of the existence of such a land at the European antipodes no doubt set many ardent and
adventurous spirits upon the search, but of their exploits and labours we know nothing.

The Dutch were the most eager in their attempts, although Torres, a Spaniard, was, so far as we know, the first to
pass in a voyage from the West Coast of America to India, between the Indian or Malay Islands, and the great continent
to the south, hence we have Torres Straits. The first authentic voyager, however, to our actual shores was Theodoric
Hertoge, subsequently known as Dirk Hartog — bound from Holland to India. He arrived at the western coast between the
years 1610 and 1616. An island on the west coast bears his name: there he left a tin plate nailed to a tree with the
date of his visit and the name of his ship, the Endragt, marked upon it. Not very long after Theodoric Hertoge, and
still to the western and north-western coasts, came Zeachern, Edels, Nuitz, De Witt, and Pelsart, who was wrecked upon
Houtman's Albrolhos, or rocks named by Edels, in his ship the Leewin or Lion. Cape Leewin is called after this vessel.
Pelsart left two convicts on the Australian coast in 1629. Carpenter was the next navigator, and all these adventurers
have indelibly affixed their names to portions of the coast of the land they discovered. The next, and a greater than
these, at least greater in his navigating successes, was Abel Janz Tasman, in 1642. Tasman was instructed to inquire
from the native inhabitants for Pelsart's two convicts, and to bring them away with him, if they entreated
him; but they were never heard of again. Tasman sailed round a great portion of the Australian coast, discovered
what he named Van Diemen's land, now Tasmania, and New Zealand. He it was who called the whole, believing it to be one,
New Holland, after the land of his birth. Next we have Dampier, an English buccaneer — though the name sounds very like
Dutch; it was probably by chance only that he and his roving crew visited these shores. Then came Wilhelm Vlaming with
three ships. God save the mark to call such things ships. How the men performed the feats they did, wandering over vast
and unknown oceans, visiting unknown coasts with iron-bound shores, beset with sunken reefs, subsisting on food not fit
for human beings, suffering from scurvy caused by salted diet and rotten biscuit, with a short allowance of water, in
torrid zones, and liable to be attacked and killed by hostile natives, it is difficult for us to conceive. They
suffered all the hardships it is possible to imagine upon the sea, and for what? for fame, for glory? That their names
and achievements might be handed down to us; and this seems to have been their only reward; for there was no
Geographical Society's medal in those days with its motto to spur them on.

Vlaming was the discoverer of the Swan River, upon which the seaport town of Fremantle and the picturesque city of
Perth, in Western Australia, now stand. This river he discovered in 1697, and he was the first who saw Dirk Hartog's
tin plate.

Dampier's report of the regions he had visited caused him to be sent out again in 1710 by the British Government,
and upon his return, all previous doubts, if any existed, as to the reality of the existence of this continent, were
dispelled, and the position of its western shores was well established. Dampier discovered a beautiful flower of the
pea family known as the Clianthus Dampierii. In 1845 Captain Sturt found the same flower on his Central Australian
expedition, and it is now generally known as Sturt's Desert Pea, but it is properly named in its botanical
classification, after its original discoverer.

After Dampier's discoveries, something like sixty years elapsed before Cook appeared upon the scene, and it was not
until his return to England that practical results seemed likely to accrue to any nation from the far-off land. I shall
not recapitulate Cook's voyages; the first fitted out by the British Government was made in 1768, but Cook did not
touch upon Australia's coast until two years later, when, voyaging northwards along the eastern coast, he anchored at a
spot he called Botany Bay, from the brightness and abundance of the beautiful wild flowers he found growing there. Here
two natives attempted to prevent his landing, although the boats were manned with forty men. The natives threw stones
and spears at the invaders, but nobody was killed. At this remote and previously unvisited spot one of the crew named
Forby Sutherland, who had died on board the Endeavour, was buried, his being the first white man's grave ever dug upon
Australia's shore; at least the first authenticated one — for might not the remaining one of the two unfortunate
convicts left by Pelsart have dug a grave for his companion who was the first to die, no man remaining to bury the
survivor? Cook's route on this voyage was along the eastern coast from Cape Howe in south latitude 37° 30´ to Cape York
in Torres Straits in latitude 10° 40´. He called the country New South Wales, from its fancied resemblance to that
older land, and he took possession of the whole in the name of George III as England's territory.

Cook reported so favourably of the regions he had discovered that the British Government decided to establish a
colony there; the spot finally selected was at Port Jackson, and the settlement was called Sydney in 1788. After Cook
came the Frenchman Du Fresne and his unfortunate countryman, La Pérouse. Then Vancouver, Blyth, and the French General
and Admiral, D'Entre-Casteaux, who went in search of the missing La Pérouse. In 1826, Captain Dillon, an English
navigator, found the stranded remains of La Pérouse's ships at two of the Charlotte Islands group. We now come to
another great English navigator, Matthew Flinders, who was the first to circumnavigate Australia; to him belongs the
honour of having given to this great island continent the name it now bears. In 1798, Flinders and Bass, sailing in an
open boat from Sydney, discovered that Australia and Van Diemen's Land were separate; the dividing straits between were
then named after Bass. In 1802, during his second voyage in the Investigator, a vessel about the size of a modern
ship's launch, Flinders had with him as a midshipman John Franklin, afterwards the celebrated Arctic navigator. On his
return to England, Flinders, touching at the Isle of France, was made prisoner by the French governor and detained for
nearly seven years, during which time a French navigator Nicolas Baudin, with whom came Pérron and Lacepède the
naturalists, and whom Flinders had met at a part of the southern coast which he called Encounter Bay in reference to
that meeting, claimed and reaped the honour and reward of a great portion of the unfortunate prisoner's work. Alas for
human hopes and aspirations, this gallant sailor died before his merits could be acknowledged or rewarded, and I
believe one or two of his sisters were, until very lately, living in the very poorest circumstances.

The name of Flinders is, however, held in greater veneration than any of his predecessors or successors, for no part
of the Australian coast was unvisited by him. Rivers, mountain ranges, parks, districts, counties, and electoral
divisions, have all been named after him; and, indeed, I may say the same of Cook; but, his work being mostly confined
to the eastern coast, the more western colonies are not so intimately connected with his name, although an Australian
poet has called him the Columbus of our shore.

After Flinders and Baudin came another Frenchman, De Fréycinet, bound on a tour of discovery all over the world.

Australia's next navigator was Captain, subsequently Admiral, Philip Parker King, who carried out four separate
voyages of discovery, mostly upon the northern coasts. At three places upon which King favourably reported, namely
Camden Harbour on the north-west coast, Port Essington in Arnhem's Land, and Port Cockburn in Apsley Straits, between
Melville and Bathurst Islands on the north coast, military and penal settlements were established, but from want of
further emigration these were abandoned. King completed a great amount of marine surveying on these voyages, which
occurred between the years 1813 and 1822.

Captain Wickham in the Beagle comes next; he discovered the Fitzroy River, which he found emptied itself into a gulf
named King's Sound. In consequence of ill-health Captain Wickham, after but a short sojourn on these shores, resigned
his command, and Lieutenant Lort Stokes, who had sailed with him in the Beagle round the rocky shores of Magellan's
Straits and Tierra del Fuego, received the command from the Lords of the Admiralty. Captain Lort Stokes may be
considered the last, but by no means the least, of the Australian navigators. On one occasion he was speared by natives
of what he justly called Treachery Bay, near the mouth of the Victoria River in Northern Australia, discovered by him.
His voyages occurred between the years 1839 and 1843. He discovered the mouths of most of the rivers that fall into the
Gulf of Carpentaria, besides many harbours, bays, estuaries, and other geographical features upon the North Australian
coasts.

The early navigators had to encounter much difficulty and many dangers in their task of making surveys from the
rough achievements of the Dutch, down to the more finished work of Flinders, King and Stokes. It is to be remembered
that they came neither for pleasure nor for rest, but to discover the gulfs, bays, peninsulas, mountains, rivers and
harbours, as well as to make acquaintance with the native races, the soils, and animal and vegetable products of the
great new land, so as to diffuse the knowledge so gained for the benefit of others who might come after them. In
cockle-shells of little ships what dangers did they not encounter from shipwreck on the sunken edges of coral ledges of
the new and shallow seas, how many were those who were never heard of again; how many a little exploring bark with its
adventurous crew have been sunk in Australia's seas, while those poor wretches who might, in times gone by, have landed
upon the inhospitable shore would certainly have been killed by the wild and savage hordes of hostile aborigines, from
whom there could be no escape! With Stokes the list of those who have visited and benefited Australia by their labours
from the sea must close; my only regret being that so poor a chronicler is giving an outline of their achievements. I
now turn to another kind of exploration — and have to narrate deeds of even greater danger, though of a different kind,
done upon Australia's face.

In giving a short account of those gallant men who have left everlasting names as explorers upon the terra
firma and terra incognita of our Australian possession, I must begin with the earliest, and go back a
hundred years to the arrival of Governor Phillip at Botany Bay, in 1788, with eleven ships, which have ever since been
known as The First Fleet.; I am not called upon to narrate the history of the settlement, but will only say
that the Governor showed sound judgment when he removed his fleet and all his men from Botany Bay to Port Jackson, and
founded the village of Sydney, which has now become the huge capital city of New South Wales. A new region was thus
opened out for British labour, trade, capital, and enterprise. From the earliest days of the settlement adventurous and
enterprising men, among whom was the Governor himself, who was on one occasion speared by the natives, were found
willing to venture their lives in the exploration of the country upon whose shores they had so lately landed.
Wentworth, Blaxland, and Evans appear on the list as the very first explorers by land. The chief object they had in
view was to surmount the difficulties which opposed their attempting to cross the Blue Mountains, and Evans was the
first who accomplished this. The first efficient exploring expedition into the interior of New South Wales was
conducted by John Oxley, the Surveyor-General of the colony, in 1817. His principal discovery was that some of the
Australian streams ran inland, towards the interior, and he traced both the Macquarie and the Lachlan, named by him
after Governor Lachlan Macquarie, until he supposed they ended in vast swamps or marshes, and thereby founded the
theory that in the centre of Australia there existed a great inland sea. After Oxley came two explorers named
respectively Hovell and Hume, who penetrated, in 1824, from the New South Wales settlements into what is now the colony
of Victoria. They discovered the upper portions of the River Murray, which they crossed somewhere in the neighbourhood
of the present town of Albury. The river was then called the Hume, but it was subsequently called the Murray by Captain
Charles Sturt, who heads the list of Australia's heroes with the title of The Father of Australian Exploration.

In 1827 Sturt made one of the greatest discoveries of this century — or at least one of the most useful for his
countrymen — that of the River Darling, the great western artery of the river system of New South Wales, and what is
now South-western Queensland. In another expedition, in 1832, Sturt traced the Murrumbidgee River, discovered by Oxley,
in boats into what he called the Murray. This river is the same found by Hovell and Hume, Sturt's name for it having
been adopted. He entered the new stream, which was lined on either bank by troops of hostile natives, from whom he had
many narrow escapes, and found it trended for several hundreds of miles in a west-north-west direction, confirming him
in his idea of an inland sea; but at a certain point, which he called the great north-west bend, it suddenly turned
south and forced its way to the sea at Encounter Bay, where Flinders met Baudin in 1803. Neither of these explorers
appear to have discovered the river's mouth. On this occasion Sturt discovered the province or colony of South
Australia, which in 1837 was proclaimed by the British Government, and in that colony Sturt afterwards made his
home.

Sturt's third and final expedition was from the colony of South Australia into Central Australia, in 1843-1845. This
was the first truly Central Australian expedition that had yet been despatched, although in 1841 Edward Eyre had
attempted the same arduous enterprise. Of this I shall write anon. On his third expedition Sturt discovered the
Barrier, the Grey, and the Stokes ranges, and among numerous smaller watercourses he found and named Strezletki's,
Cooper's, and Eyre's Creeks. The latter remained the furthest known inland water of Australia for many years after
Sturt's return. Sturt was accompanied, as surveyor and draftsman, by John McDouall Stuart, whom I shall mention in his
turn. So far as my opinion, formed in my wanderings over the greater portions of the country explored by Sturt, goes,
his estimate of the regions he visited has scarcely been borne out according to the views of the present day.

Like Oxley, he was fully impressed with the notion that an inland sea did exist, and although he never met such a
feature in his travels, he seems to have thought it must be only a little more remote than the parts he had reached. He
was fully prepared to come upon an inland sea, for he carried a boat on a bullock waggon for hundreds of miles, and
when he finally abandoned it he writes: “Here we left the boat which I had vainly hoped would have ploughed the waters
of an inland sea.” Several years afterwards I discovered pieces of this boat, built of New Zealand pine, in the debris
of a flood about twenty miles down the watercourse where it had been left. A great portion, if not all the country,
explored by that expedition is now highly-prized pastoral land, and a gold field was discovered almost in sight of a
depot formed by Sturt, at a spot where he was imprisoned at a water hole for six months without moving his camp. He
described the whole region as a desert, and he seems to have been haunted by the notion that he had got into and was
surrounded by a wilderness the like of which no human being had ever seen or heard of before. His whole narrative is a
tale of suffering and woe, and he says on his map, being at the furthest point he attained in the interior, about
forty-five miles from where he had encamped on the watercourse he called Eyre's Creek, now a watering place for stock
on a Queensland cattle run: “Halted at sunset in a country such as I verily believe has no parallel upon the earth's
surface, and one which was terrible in its aspect.” Sturt's views are only to be accounted for by the fact that what we
now call excellent sheep and cattle country appeared to him like a desert, because his comparisons were made with the
best alluvial lands he had left near the coast. Explorers as a rule, great ones more particularly, are not without
rivals in so honourable a field as that of discovery, although not every one who undertakes the task is fitted either
by nature or art to adorn the chosen part. Sturt was rivalled by no less celebrated an individual than Major,
afterwards Sir Thomas, Mitchell, a soldier of the Peninsula War, and some professional jealousy appears to have existed
between them.

Major Mitchell was then the Surveyor-General of the Colony, and he entirely traversed and made known the region he
appropriately named Australia Felix, now the colony of Victoria. Mitchell, like Sturt, conducted three expeditions: the
first in 1831-1832, when he traced the River Darling previously discovered by Sturt, for several hundred miles, until
he found it trend directly to the locality at which Sturt, in his journey down the Murray, had seen and laid down its
mouth or junction with the larger river. Far up the Darling, in latitude 30° 5´, Mitchell built a stockade and formed a
depot, which he called Fort Bourke; near this spot the present town of Bourke is situated and now connected by rail
with Sydney, the distance being about 560 miles. Mitchell's second journey, when he visited Australia Felix, was made
in 1835, and his last expedition into tropical Australia was in 1845. On this expedition he discovered a large river
running in a north-westerly direction, and as its channel was so large, and its general appearance so grand, he
conjectured that it would prove to be the Victoria River of Captain Lort Stokes, and that it would run on in probably
increasing size, or at least in undiminished magnificence, through the 1100 or 1200 miles of country that intervened
between his own and Captain Stokes's position. He therefore called it the Victoria River. Gregory subsequently
discovered that Mitchell's Victoria turned south, and was one and the same watercourse called Cooper's Creek by Sturt.
The upper portion of this watercourse is now known by its native name of the Barcoo, the name Victoria being ignored.
Mitchell always had surveyors with him, who chained as he went every yard of the thousands of miles he explored. He was
knighted for his explorations, and lived to enjoy the honour; so indeed was Sturt, but in his case it was only a
mockery, for he was totally blind and almost on his deathbed when the recognition of his numerous and valuable services
was so tardily conferred upon him. (Dr. W.H. Browne, who accompanied Sturt to Central Australia in 1843-5 as surgeon
and naturalist, is living in London; and another earlier companion of the Father of Australian Exploration, George
McCleay, still survives.)

These two great travellers were followed by, or worked simultaneously, although in a totally different part of the
continent, namely the north-west coast, with Sir George Grey in 1837-1839. His labours and escapes from death by
spear-wounds, shipwreck, starvation, thirst, and fatigue, fill his volumes with incidents of the deepest interest.
Edward Eyre, subsequently known as Governor Eyre, made an attempt to reach, in 1840-1841, Central Australia by a route
north from the city of Adelaide; and as Sturt imagined himself surrounded by a desert, so Eyre thought he was hemmed in
by a circular or horse-shoe-shaped salt depression, which he called Lake Torrens; because, wherever he tried to push
northwards, north-westwards, eastwards, or north-eastwards, he invariably came upon the shores of one of these
objectionable and impassable features. As we now know, there are several of them with spaces of traversable ground
between, instead of the obstacle being one continuous circle by which he supposed he was surrounded. In consequence of
his inability to overcome this obstruction, Eyre gave up the attempt to penetrate into Central Australia, but pushing
westerly, round the head of Flinders' Spencer's Gulf, where now the inland seaport town of Port Augusta stands, he
forced his way along the coast line from Port Lincoln to Fowler's Bay (Flinders), and thence along the perpendicular
cliffs of the Great Australian Bight to Albany, at King George's Sound.

This journey of Eyre's was very remarkable in more ways than one; its most extraordinary incident being the
statement that his horses travelled for seven days and nights without water. I have travelled with horses in almost
every part of Australia, but I know that after three days and three nights without water horses would certainly knock
up, die, or become utterly useless, and it would be impossible to make them continue travelling. Another remarkable
incident of his march is strange enough. One night whilst Eyre was watching the horses, there being no water at the
encampment, Baxter, his only white companion, was murdered by two little black boys belonging to South Australia, who
had been with Eyre for some time previously. These little boys shot Baxter and robbed the camp of nearly all the food
and ammunition it contained, and then, while Eyre was running up from the horses to where Baxter lay, decamped into the
bush and were only seen the following morning, but never afterwards. One other and older boy, a native of Albany,
whither Eyre was bound, now alone remained. Eyre and this boy (Wylie) now pushed on in a starving condition, living
upon dead fish or anything they could find for several weeks, and never could have reached the Sound had they not, by
almost a miracle, fallen in with a French whaling schooner when nearly 300 miles had yet to be traversed. The captain,
who was an Englishman named Rossiter, treated them most handsomely; he took them on board for a month while their
horses recruited on shore — for this was a watering place of Flinders — he then completely refitted them with every
necessary before he would allow them to depart. Eyre in gratitude called the place Rossiter Bay, but it seems to have
been prophetically christened previously by the ubiquitous Flinders, under the name of Lucky Bay. Nearly all the
watering places visited by Eyre consisted of the drainage from great accumulations of pure white sand or hummocks,
which were previously discovered by the Investigator; as Flinders himself might well have been called. The most
peculiar of these features is the patch at what Flinders called the head of the Great Australian Bight; these sandhills
rise to an elevation of several hundred feet, the prevailing southerly winds causing them to slope gradually from the
south, while the northern face is precipitous. In moonlight I have seen these sandhills, a few miles away, shining like
snowy mountains, being refracted to an unnatural altitude by the bright moonlight. Fortunate indeed it was for Eyre
that such relief was afforded him; he was unable to penetrate at all into the interior, and he brought back no
information of the character and nature of the country inland. I am the only traveller who has explored that part of
the interior, but of this more hereafter.

About this time Strezletki and McMillan, both from New South Wales, explored the region now the easternmost part of
the colony of Victoria, which Strezletki called Gipp's Land. These two explorers were rivals, and both, it seems,
claimed to have been first in that field.

Next on the list of explorers comes Ludwig Leichhardt, a surgeon, a botanist, and an eager seeker after fame in the
Australian field of discovery, and whose memory all must revere. He successfully conducted an expedition from Moreton
Bay to the Port Essington of King — on the northern coast — by which he made known the geographical features of a great
part of what is now Queensland, the capital being Brisbane at Moreton Bay. A settlement had been established at Port
Essington by the Government of New South Wales, to which colony the whole territory then belonged. At this settlement,
as being the only point of relief after eighteen months of travel, Leichhardt and his exhausted party arrived. The
settlement was a military and penal one, but was ultimately abandoned. It is now a cattle station in the northern
territory division of South Australia, and belongs to some gentlemen in Adelaide.

Of Leichhardt's sad fate in the interior of Australia no tidings have ever been heard. On this fatal journey, which
occurred in 1848, he undertook the too gigantic task of crossing Australia from east to west, that is to say, from
Moreton Bay to Swan River. Even at that period, however, the eastern interior was not all entirely unknown, as
Mitchell's Victoria River or Barcoo, and the Cooper's and Eyre's Creeks of Sturt had already been discovered. The
last-named watercourse lay nearly 1000 miles from the eastern coast, in latitude 25° south, and it is reasonable to
suppose that to such a point Leichhardt would naturally direct his course — indeed in what was probably his last
letter, addressed to a friend, he mentions this watercourse as a desirable point to make for upon his new attempt. But
where his wanderings ended, and where the catastrophe that closed his own and his companions' lives occurred, no tongue
can tell. After he finally left the furthest outlying settlements at the Mount Abundance station, he, like the lost
Pleiad, was seen on earth no more. How could he have died and where? ah, where indeed? I who have wandered into and
returned alive from the curious regions he attempted and died to explore, have unfortunately never come across a single
record or any remains or traces of those long lost but unforgotten braves. Leichhardt originally started on his last
sad venture with a party of eight, including one if not two native black boys. Owing, however, to some disagreement,
the whole party returned to the starting point, but being reorganised it started again with the same number of members.
There were about twenty head of bullocks broken in to carry pack-loads; this was an ordinary custom in those early days
of Australian settlement. Leichhardt also had two horses and five or six mules: this outfit was mostly contributed by
the settlers who gave, some flour, some bullocks, some money, firearms, gear, etc., and some gave sheep and goats; he
had about a hundred of the latter. The packed bullocks were taken to supply the party with beef, in the meantime
carrying the expedition stores. The bullocks' pack-saddles were huge, ungainly frames of wood fastened with iron-work,
rings, etc.

Shortly after the expedition made a second start, two or three of the members again seceded, and returned to the
settlements, while Leichhardt and his remaining band pushed farther and farther to the west.

Although the eastern half of the continent is now inhabited, though thinly, no traces of any kind, except two or
three branded trees in the valley of the Cooper, have ever been found. My belief is that the only cause to be assigned
for their destruction is summed up in the dread word “flood.” They were so far traced into the valley of the Cooper;
this creek, which has a very lengthy course, ends in Lake Eyre, one of the salt depressions which baffled that
explorer. A point on the southern shore is now known as Eyre's Lookout.

The Cooper is known in times of flood to reach a width of between forty and fifty miles, the whole valley being
inundated. Floods may surround a traveller while not a drop of local rain may fall, and had the members of this
expedition perished in any other way, some remains of iron pack-saddle frames, horns, bones, skulls, firearms, and
other articles must have been found by the native inhabitants who occupied the region, and would long ago have been
pointed out by the aborigines to the next comers who invaded their territories. The length of time that animals' bones
might remain intact in the open air in Australia is exemplified by the fact that in 1870, John Forrest found the skull
of a horse in one of Eyre's camps on the cliffs of the south coast thirty years after it was left there by Eyre.
Forrest carried the skull to Adelaide. I argue, therefore, that if Leichhardt's animals and equipment had not been
buried by a flood, some remains must have been since found, for it is impossible, if such things were above ground that
they could escape the lynx-like glances of Australian aboriginals, whose wonderful visual powers are unsurpassed among
mankind. Everybody and everything must have been swallowed in a cataclysm and buried deep and sure in the mud and slime
of a flood.

The New South Wales Government made praiseworthy efforts to rescue the missing traveller. About a year after
Leichhardt visited Port Essington, the Government abandoned the settlement, and the prevailing opinion in the colony of
New South Wales at that time was, that Leichhardt had not been able to reach Eyre's Creek, but had been forced up
north, from his intended route, the inland-sea theory still prevailing, and that he had probably returned to the old
settlement for relief. Therefore, when he had been absent two years, the Government despatched a schooner to the
abandoned place. The master of the vessel saw several of the half-civilised natives, who well remembered Leichhardt's
arrival there, but he had not returned. The natives promised the master to take the greatest care of him should he
again appear, but it is needless to say he was seen no more. The Government were very solicitous about him, and when he
had been absent four years, Mr. Hovendon Heley was sent away with an outfit of pack-horses and six or seven men, to
endeavour to trace him. This expedition seems to have wandered about for several months, and discovered, as Mr. Heley
states, two marked trees branded exactly alike, namely L over XVA, and each spot where these existed is minutely
described. There was at each, a water-hole, upon the bank of which the camp was situated; at each camp a marked tree
was found branded alike; at each, the frame of a tent was left standing; at each, some logs had been laid down to place
the stores and keep them from damp. The two places as described appear so identical that it seems impossible to think
otherwise than that Heley and his party arrived twice at the same place without knowing it. The tree or trees were
found on a watercourse, or courses, near the head of the Warrego River, in Queensland. The above was all the
information gained by this expedition. A subsequent search expedition was sent out in 1858, under Augustus Gregory;
this I shall place in its chronological order. Kennedy, a companion of Sir Thomas Mitchell into Tropical Australia in
1845, next enters the field. He went to trace Mitchell's Victoria River or Barcoo, but finding it turned southwards and
broke into many channels, he abandoned it, and on his return journey discovered the Warrego River, which may be termed
the Murrumbidgee of Queensland. On a second expedition, in 1848, Kennedy started from Moreton Bay to penetrate and
explore the country of the long peninsula, which runs up northward between the Gulf of Carpentaria and the Pacific
Ocean, and ends at Cape York, the northernmost point of Australia in Torres Straits. From this disastrous expedition he
never returned. He was starved, ill, fatigued, hunted by remorseless aborigines for days, and finally speared to death
by the natives of Cape York, when almost within sight of his goal, where a vessel was waiting to succour him and all
his party. Only a black boy named Jacky Jacky was with him. After Kennedy's death Jacky buried all his papers in a
hollow tree, and for a couple of days he eluded his pursuers, until, reaching the spot where his master had told him
the vessel would be, he ran yelling down to the beach, followed by a crowd of murderous savages. By the luckiest chance
a boat happened to be at the beach, and the officers and crew rescued the boy. The following day a party led by Jacky
returned to where poor Kennedy lay, and they buried him. They obtained his books and maps from the tree where Jacky had
hidden them. The narrative of this expedition is heart-rending. Of the whole number of the whites, namely seven, two
only were rescued by the vessel at a place where Kennedy had formed a depot on the coast, and left four men.

With Captain Roe, a companion of King's, with whom he was speared and nearly killed by the natives of Goulburn
Island, in 1820, and who afterwards became Surveyor-General of the colony of Western Australia, the list of Australia's
early explorers may be said to close, although I should remark that Augustus Gregory was a West Australian explorer as
early as the year 1846. Captain Roe conducted the most extensive inland exploration of Western Australia at that day,
in 1848. No works of fiction can excel, or indeed equal, in romantic and heart-stirring interest the volumes, worthy to
be written in letters of gold, which record the deeds and the sufferings of these noble toilers in the dim and distant
field of discovery afforded by the Australasian continent and its vast islands. It would be well if those works were
read by the present generation as eagerly as the imaginary tales of adventure which, while they appeal to no real
sentiment, and convey no solid information, cannot compete for a moment with those sublime records of what has been
dared, done, and suffered, at the call of duty, and for the sake of human interests by men who have really lived and
died. I do not say that all works of fiction are entirely without interest to the human imagination, or that writers of
some of these works are not clever, for in one sense they certainly are, and that is, in only writing of horrors that
never occurred, without going through the preliminary agony of a practical realisation of the dangers they so
graphically describe, and from which, perhaps, they might be the very first to flee, though their heroes are made to
appear nothing less than demigods. Strange as it may appear, it seems because the tales of Australian travel and
self-devotion are true, that they attract but little notice, for were the narratives of the explorers not true
we might become the most renowned novelists the world has ever known. Again, Australian geography, as explained in the
works of Australian exploration, might be called an unlearned study. Let me ask how many boys out of a hundred in
Australia, or England either, have ever read Sturt or Mitchell, Eyre, Leichhardt, Grey, or Stuart. It is possible a few
may have read Cook's voyages, because they appear more national, but who has read Flinders, King, or Stokes? Is it
because these narratives are Australian and true that they are not worthy of attention?

Having well-nigh exhausted the list of the early explorers in Australia, it is necessary now to turn to a more
modern school. I must admit that in the works of this second section, with a few exceptions, such stirring narratives
as those of the older travellers cannot be found. Nevertheless, considerable interest must still attach to them, as
they in reality carry on the burning torch which will not be consumed until by its light the whole of Australia stands
revealed.

The modern explorers are of a different class, and perhaps of one not so high as their predecessors. By this remark
I do not mean anything invidious, and if any of the moderns are correctly to be classed with the ancients, the Brothers
Gregory must be spoken of next, as being the fittest to head a secondary list. Augustus Gregory was in the West
Australian field of discovery in 1846. He was a great mechanical, as well as a geographical, discoverer, for to him we
are indebted for our modern horses' pack-saddles in lieu of the dreadful old English sumpter horse furniture that went
by that name; he also invented a new kind of compass known as Gregory's Patent, unequalled for steering on horseback,
and through dense scrubs where an ordinary compass would be almost useless, while steering on camels in dense scrubs,
on a given bearing, without a Gregory would be next to impossible; it would be far easier indeed, if not absolutely
necessary, to walk and lead them, which has to be done in almost all camel countries.

In 1854 Austin made a lengthened journey to the east and northwards, from the old settled places of Western
Australia, and in 1856 Augustus Gregory conducted the North Australian Expedition, fitted out under the auspices of the
Royal Geographical Society of London. Landing at Stokes's Treachery Bay, Gregory and his brother Frank explored
Stokes's Victoria River to its sources, and found another watercourse, whose waters, running inland, somewhat revived
the old theory of the inland sea. Upon tracing this river, which he named Sturt's Creek, after the father of Australian
exploration, it was found to exhaust itself in a circular basin, which was named Termination Lake. Retracing the creek
to where the depot was situated, the party travelled across a stretch of unknown country for some two hundred miles,
and striking Leichhardt's Port Essington track on Leichhardt's Roper River, his route was followed too closely for
hundreds of miles until civilisation was reached. My friend Baron von Mueller accompanied this expedition as botanist,
naturalist, surgeon and physician.

Soon after his return from his northern expedition, Gregory was despatched in 1858 by the Government of New South
Wales to search again for the lost explorer Leichhardt, who had then been missing ten years. This expedition resulted
in little or nothing, as far as its main object was concerned, one or two trees, marked L, on the Barcoo and lower end
of the Thompson, was all it discovered; but, geographically, it settled the question of the course of the Barcoo, or
Mitchell's Victoria, which Gregory followed past Kennedy's farthest point, and traced until he found it identical with
Sturt's Cooper's Creek. He described it as being of enormous width in times of flood, and two of Sturt's horses,
abandoned since 1845, were seen but left uncaptured. Sturt's Strezletki Creek in South Australian territory was then
followed. This peculiar watercourse branches out from the Cooper and runs in a south-south-west direction. It brought
Gregory safely to the northern settlements of South Australia. The fruitless search for it, however, was one of the
main causes of the death of Burke and Wills in 1861. This was Gregory's final attempt; he accepted the position of
Surveyor-General of Queensland, and his labours as an explorer terminated. His journals are characterised by a brevity
that is not the soul of wit, he appearing to grudge to others the information he had obtained at the expense of great
endurance, hardihood, knowledge, and judgment. Gregory was probably the closest observer of all the explorers, except
Mitchell, and an advanced geologist.

In 1858 a new aspirant for geographical honours appeared on the field in the person of John McDouall Stuart, of
South Australia, who, as before mentioned, had formerly been a member of Captain Sturt's Central Australian expedition
in 1843-5 as draftsman and surveyor. Stuart's object was to cross the continent, almost in its greatest width, from
south to north; and this he eventually accomplished. After three attempts he finally reached the north coast in 1862,
his rival Burke having been the first to do so. Stuart might have been first, but he seems to have under-valued his
rival, and wasted time in returning and refitting when he might have performed the feat in two if not one journey; for
he discovered a well-watered country the whole way, and his route is now mainly the South Australian Transcontinental
Telegraph Line, though it must be remembered that Stuart had something like fifteen hundred miles of unknown country in
front of him to explore, while Burke and Wills had scarcely six. Stuart also conducted some minor explorations before
he undertook his greater one. He and McKinlay were South Australia's heroes, and are still venerated there accordingly.
He died in England not long after the completion of his last expedition.

We now come to probably the most melancholy episode in the long history of Australian exploration, relating to the
fate of Burke and Wills. The people and Government of the colony of Victoria determined to despatch an expedition to
explore Central Australia, from Sturt's Eyre's Creek to the shores of the Gulf of Carpentaria at the mouth of the
Albert River of Stokes's, a distance in a straight line of not more than six hundred miles; and as everything that
Victoria undertakes must always be on the grandest scale, so was this. One colonist gave £1000; £4000 more was
subscribed, and then the Government took the matter in hand to fit out the Victorian Exploring Expedition. Camels were
specially imported from India, and everything was done to ensure success; when I say everything, I mean all but the
principal thing — the leader was the wrong man. He knew nothing of bush life or bushmanship, navigation, or any art of
travel. Robert O'Hara Burke was brave, no doubt, but so hopelessly ignorant of what he was undertaking, that it would
have been the greatest wonder if he had returned alive to civilisation. He was accompanied by a young man named Wills
as surveyor and observer; he alone kept a diary, and from his own statements therein he was frequently more than a
hundred miles out of his reckoning. That, however, did not cause his or Burke's death; what really did so was bad
management. The money this expedition cost, variously estimated at from £40,000 to £60,000, was almost thrown away, for
the map of the route of the expedition was incorrect and unreliable, and Wills's journal of no geographical value,
except that it showed they had no difficulty with regard to water. The expedition was, however, successful in so far
that Burke crossed Australia from south to north before Stuart, and was the first traveller who had done so. Burke and
Wills both died upon Cooper's Creek after their return from Carpentaria upon the field of their renown. Charles Gray,
one of the party, died, or was killed, a day or two before returning thither, and John King, the sole survivor, was
rescued by Alfred Howitt. Burke's and Stuart's lines of travel, though both pushing from south to north, were separated
by a distance of over 400 miles in longitude. These travellers, or heroes I suppose I ought to call them, were neither
explorers nor bushmen, but they were brave and undaunted, and they died in the cause they had undertaken.

When it became certain in Melbourne that some mishap must have occurred to these adventurers, Victoria, South
Australia, and Queensland each sent out relief parties. South Australia sent John McKinlay, who found Gray's grave, and
afterwards made a long exploration to Carpentaria, where, not finding any vessel as he expected, he had an arduous
struggle to reach a Queensland cattle station near Port Dennison on the eastern coast. Queensland sent Landsborough by
sea to Carpentaria, where he was landed and left to live or die as he might, though of course he had a proper equipment
of horses, men, and gear. He followed up the Flinders River of Stokes, had a fine country to traverse; got on to the
head of the Warrego, and finally on to the Darling River in New South Wales. He came across no traces whatever of
Burke. Victoria sent a relief expedition under Walker, with several Queensland black troopers. Walker, crossing the
lower Barcoo, found a tree of Leichhardt's marked L, being the most westerly known. Walker arrived at Carpentaria
without seeing any traces of the missing Burke and Wills; but at the mouth of the Albert River met the master of the
vessel that had conveyed Landsborough; the master had seen or heard nothing of Burke. Another expedition fitted out by
Victoria, and called the Victorian Contingent Relief Expedition, was placed under the command of Alfred Howitt in 1861.
At this time a friend of mine, named Conn, and I were out exploring for pastoral runs, and were in retreat upon the
Darling, when we met Howitt going out. When farther north I repeatedly urged my companion to visit the Cooper, from
which we were then only eighty or ninety miles away, in vain. I urged how we might succour some, if not all, of the
wanderers. Had we done so we should have found and rescued King, and we might have been in time to save Burke and Wills
also; but Conn would not agree to go. It is true we were nearly starved as it was, and might have been entirely starved
had we gone there, but by good fortune we met and shot a stray bullock that had wandered from the Darling, and this
happy chance saved our lives. I may here remark that poor Conn and two other exploring comrades of those days, named
Curlewis and McCulloch, were all subsequently, not only killed but partly eaten by the wild natives of Australia — Conn
in a place near Cooktown on the Queensland coast, and Curlewis and McCulloch on the Paroo River in New South Wales in
1862. When we were together we had many very narrow escapes from death, and I have had several similar experiences
since those days. Howitt on his arrival at Cooper's Creek was informed by the natives that a white man was alive with
them, and thus John King, the sole survivor, was rescued.

Between 1860-65 several short expeditions were carried on in Western Australia by Frank Gregory, Lefroy, Robinson,
and Hunt; while upon the eastern side of Australia, the Brothers Jardine successfully explored and took a mob of cattle
through the region that proved so fatal to Kennedy and his companions in 1848. The Jardines traversed a route more
westerly than Kennedy's along the eastern shores of the Gulf of Carpentaria to Cape York.

In 1865, Duncan McIntyre, while on the Flinders River of Stokes and near the Gulf of Carpentaria, into which it
flows, was shown by a white shepherd at an out sheep station, a tree on which the letter L was cut. This no doubt was
one of Landsborough's marks, or if it was really carved by Leichhardt, it was done upon his journey to Port Essington
in 1844, when he crossed and encamped upon the Flinders. Mcintyre reported by telegraph to Melbourne that he had found
traces of Leichhardt, whereupon Baron von Mueller and a committee of ladies in Melbourne raised a fund of nearly £4000,
and an expedition called “The Ladies' Leichhardt Search Expedition,” whose noble object was to trace and find some
records or mementoes, if not the persons, and discover the last resting-place of the unfortunate traveller and his
companions, was placed under McIntyre's command. About sixty horses and sixteen camels were obtained for this attempt.
The less said about this splendid but ill-starred effort the better. Indignation is a mild term to apply to our
feelings towards the man who caused the ruin of so generous an undertaking. Everything that its promoters could do to
ensure its success they did, and it deserved a better fate, for a brilliant issue might have been obtained, if not by
the discovery of the lost explorers, at least by a geographical result, as the whole of the western half of Australia
lay unexplored before it. The work, trouble, anxiety, and expense that Baron von Mueller went through to start this
expedition none but the initiated can ever know. It was ruined before it even entered the field of its labours, for,
like Burke's and Wills's expedition, it was unfortunately placed under the command of the wrong man. The collapse of
the expedition occurred in this wise. A certain doctor was appointed surgeon and second in command, the party
consisting of about ten men, including two Afghans with the camels, and one young black boy. Their encampment was now
at a water-hole in the Paroo, where Curlewis and McCulloch had been killed, in New South Wales. The previous year
McIntyre had visited a water-hole in the Cooper some seventy-four or seventy-five miles from his camp on the Paroo, and
now ordered the whole of his heavily-laden beasts and all the men to start for the distant spot. The few appliances
they had for carrying water soon became emptied. About the middle of the third day, upon arrival at the wished-for
relief, to their horror and surprise they found the water-hole was dry — by no means an unusual thing in Australian
travel. The horses were already nearly dead; McIntyre, without attempting to search either up or down the channel of
the watercourse, immediately ordered a retreat to the last water in the Paroo. After proceeding a few miles he left the
horses and white men, seven in number, and went on ahead with the camels, the Afghans and the black boy, saying he
would return with water for the others as soon as he could. His brother was one of the party left behind. Almost as
soon as McIntyre's back was turned, the doctor said to the men something to the effect that they were abandoned to die
of thirst, there not being a drop of water remaining, and that he knew in which packs the medical brandy was stowed,
certain bags being marked to indicate them. He then added, “Boys, we must help ourselves! the Leichhardt Search
Expedition is a failure; follow me, and I'll get you something to drink.” Taking a knife, he ripped open the marked
bags while still on the choking horses' backs, and extracted the only six bottles there were. One white man named
Barnes, to whom all honour, refused to touch the brandy, the others poured the boiling alcohol down their parched and
burning throats, and a wild scene of frenzy, as described by Barnes, ensued. In the meanwhile the unfortunate
packhorses wandered away, loaded as they were, and died in thirst and agony, weighed down by their unremoved packs,
none of which were ever recovered. Thus all the food supply and nearly all the carrying power of the expedition was
lost; the only wonder was that none of these wretches actually died at the spot, although I heard some of them died
soon after. The return of McIntyre and the camels loaded with water saved their lives at the time; but what was his
chagrin and surprise to find the party just where he had left them, nearly dead, most of them delirious, with all the
horses gone, when he had expected to meet them so much nearer the Paroo. In consequence of the state these men or
animals were in, they had to be carried on the camels, and it was impossible to go in search of the horses; thus all
was lost. This event crushed the expedition. Mcintyre obtained a few more horses, pushed across to the Flinders again,
became attacked with fever, and died. Thus the “Ladies' Leichhardt Search Expedition” entirely fell through. The camels
were subsequently claimed by McIntyre's brother for the cost of grazing them, he having been carried by them to
Carpentaria, where he selected an excellent pastoral property, became rich, and died. It was the same doctor that got
into trouble with the Queensland Government concerning the kidnapping of some islanders in the South Seas, and narrowly
escaped severe, if not capital punishment.

In 1866, Mr. Cowle conducted an expedition from Roebourne, near Nicol Bay, on the West Coast, for four or five
hundred miles to the Fitzroy River, discovered by Wickham, at the bottom of King's Sound.

In 1869, a report having spread in Western Australia of the massacre of some white people by the natives somewhere
to the eastwards of Champion Bay, on the west coast, the rumour was supposed to relate to Leichhardt and his party; and
upon the representations of Baron von Mueller to the West Australian Government, a young surveyor named John Forrest
was despatched to investigate the truth of the story. This expedition penetrated some distance to the eastwards, but
could discover no traces of the lost, or indeed anything appertaining to any travellers whatever.

In 1869-70, John Forrest, accompanied by his brother Alexander, was again equipped by the West Australian Government
for an exploration eastwards, with the object of endeavouring to reach the South Australian settlements by a new route
inland. Forrest, however, followed Eyre's track of 1840-1, along the shores of the Great Australian Bight, and may be
said to have made no exploration at all, as he did not on any occasion penetrate inland more than about thirty miles
from the coast. At an old encampment Forrest found the skull of one of Eyre's horses, which had been lying there for
thirty years. This trophy he brought with him to Adelaide.

The following year, Alexander Forrest conducted an expedition to the eastwards, from the West Australian
settlements; but only succeeded in pushing a few miles beyond Hunt and Lefroy's furthest point in 1864.

What I have written above is an outline of the history of discovery and exploration in Australia when I first took
the field in the year 1872; and though it may not perhaps be called, as Tennyson says, one of the fairy tales of
science, still it is certainly one of the long results of time. I have conducted five public expeditions and several
private ones. The latter will not be recorded in these volumes, not because there were no incidents of interest, but
because they were conducted, in connection with other persons, for entirely pastoral objects. Experiences of hunger,
thirst, and attacks by hostile natives during those undertakings relieved them of any monotony they might otherwise
display. It is, however, to my public expeditions that I shall now confine my narrative.

The wild charm and exciting desire that induce an individual to undertake the arduous tasks that lie before an
explorer, and the pleasure and delight of visiting new and totally unknown places, are only whetted by his first
attempt, especially when he is constrained to admit that his first attempt had not resulted in his carrying out its
objects.

My first and second expeditions were conducted entirely with horses; in all my after journeys I had the services of
camels, those wonderful ships of the desert, without whose aid the travels and adventures which are subsequently
recorded could not possibly have been achieved, nor should I now be alive, as Byron says, to write so poor a tale, this
lowly lay of mine. In my first and second expeditions, the object I had in view was to push across the continent, from
different starting points, upon the South Australian Transcontinental Telegraph Line, to the settled districts of
Western Australia. My first expedition was fitted out entirely by Baron von Mueller, my brother-in-law, Mr. G.D. Gill,
and myself. I was joined in this enterprise by a young gentleman, named Samuel Carmichael, whom I met in Melbourne, and
who also contributed his share towards the undertaking. The furthest point reached on this journey was about 300 miles
from my starting point. On my return, upon reaching the Charlotte Waters Telegraph Station, in latitude 25° 55´ and
longitude 135° I met Colonel Warburton and his son, whom I had known before. These gentlemen informed me, to my great
astonishment, they were about to undertake an exploring expedition to Western Australia, for two well-known capitalists
of South Australia, namely the Honourable Sir Thomas Elder and Captain Hughes. I was also informed that a South
Australian Government expedition, for the same purpose, was just in advance of them, under the command of Mr. William
C. Gosse. This information took me greatly by surprise, though perhaps an explorer should not admit such a feeling. I
had just returned from an attempt of the same kind, beaten and disappointed. I felt if ever I took the field again,
against two such formidable rivals as were now about to attempt what I had failed in, both being supplied with camels
by Sir Thomas Elder, my chances of competing with them would be small indeed, as I could only command horses, and was
not then known to Sir Thomas Elder, the only gentleman in Australia who possessed camels.

The fact of two expeditions starting away simultaneously, almost as soon as I had turned my back upon civilisation,
showed me at once that my attempt, I being regarded as a Victorian, had roused the people and Government of South
Australia to the importance of the question which I was the first to endeavour to solve — namely, the exploration of
the unknown interior, and the possibility of discovering an overland route for stock through Central Australia, to the
settlements upon the western coast. This, I may remark, had been the dream of all Australian explorers from the time of
Eyre and Leichhardt down to my own time. It also showed that South Australia had no desire to be beaten again (Burke
and Stuart.), and in her own territories, by “worthless Melbourne's pulling child;” (hence the two new expeditions
arose. Immediately upon my return being made known by telegram to my friend Baron von Mueller, he set to work, and with
unwearied exertion soon obtained a new fund from several wealthy gentlemen in the rival colony of Victoria. In
consideration of the information I had afforded by my late effort, the Government of South Australia supplemented this
fund by the munificent subsidy of £250, provided I expended the money in fresh explorations, and supplied to
the Government, at the termination of my journey, a copy of the map and journal of my expedition. My poverty, and not
my will, consented to accept so mean a gift. As a new, though limited fund was now placed at my disposal, I had no
inclination to decline a fresh attempt, and thus my second expedition was undertaken; and such despatch was used by
Baron Mueller and myself, that I was again in the field, with horses only, not many weeks later than my rivals.

On this journey I was accompanied and seconded by Mr. William Henry Tietkens. We had both been scholars at Christ's
Hospital in London, though many years apart. Of the toils and adventures of my second expedition the readers of my book
must form their own opinion; and although I was again unsuccessful in carrying out my object, and the expedition ended
in the death of one member, and in misfortune and starvation to the others, still I have been told by a few partial
friends that it was really a splendid failure. On that expedition I explored a line of nearly 700 miles of previously
unknown country, in a straight line from my starting point.

During my first and second expeditions I had been fortunate in the discovery of large areas of mountain country,
permanently watered and beautifully grassed, and, as spaces of enormous extent still remained to be explored, I decided
to continue in the field, provided I could secure the use of camels. These volumes will contain the narratives of my
public explorations. In the preface to this work I have given an outline of the physical and colonial divisions of
Australia, so that my reader may eventually follow me, albeit in imagination only, to the starting points of my
journeys, and into the field of my labours also.

Preface.

The Island Continent of Australia contains an area of about three millions of square miles, it being, so to say, an
elliptically-shaped mass about 2500 miles in length from east to west, and 2000 from north to south. The degrees of
latitude and longitude it occupies will be shown by the map accompanying these volumes.

The continent is divided into five separate colonies, whose respective capitals are situated several hundreds of
miles apart. The oldest colony is New South Wales. The largest in area is Western Australia, next comes South
Australia; then Queensland, New South Wales, and lastly Victoria, which, though the smallest in area, is now the first
in importance among the group. It was no wonder that Mitchell, the Surveyor-General of New South Wales, designated that
region “Australia Felix.”

It may be strange, but it is no less true, that there is almost as great a difference between the fiscal laws and
governments of the various Australian Colonies as between those of foreign States in Europe — the only thing in common
being the language and the money of the British Empire. Although however, they agree to differ amongst themselves,
there can be no doubt of the loyalty of the group, as a whole, to their parent nation. I shall go no further into this
matter, as, although English enough, it is foreign to my subject. I shall treat more especially of the colony or
colonies within whose boundaries my travels led me, and shall begin with South Australia, where my first expedition was
conducted.

South Australia includes a vast extent of country called the Northern Territory, which must become in time a
separate colony, as it extends from the 26th parallel of latitude, embracing the whole country northwards to the Indian
Ocean at the 11th parallel. South Australia possesses one advantage over the other colonies, from the geographical fact
of her oblong territory extending, so to speak, exactly in the middle right across the continent from the Southern to
the Indian Ocean. The dimensions of the colony are in extreme length over 1800 miles, by a breadth of nearly 700, and
almost through the centre of this vast region the South Australian Transcontinental Telegraph line runs from Adelaide,
via Port Augusta, to Port Darwin.

At the time I undertook my first expedition in 1872, this extensive work had just been completed, and it may be said
to divide the continent into halves, which, for the purpose I then had in view, might be termed the explored and the
unexplored halves. For several years previous to my taking the field, I had desired to be the first to penetrate into
this unknown region, where, for a thousand miles in a straight line, no white man's foot had ever wandered, or, if it
had, its owner had never brought it back, nor told the tale. I had ever been a delighted student of the narratives of
voyages and discoveries, from Robinson Crusoe to Anson and Cook, and the exploits on land in the brilliant accounts
given by Sturt, Mitchell, Eyre, Grey, Leichhardt, and Kennedy, constantly excited my imagination, as my own travels may
do that of future rovers, and continually spurred me on to emulate them in the pursuit they had so eminently
graced.

My object, as indeed had been Leichhardt's, was to force my way across the thousand miles that lay untrodden and
unknown, between the South Australian telegraph line and the settlements upon the Swan River. What hopes I formed, what
aspirations came of what might be my fortune, for I trust it will be believed that an explorer may be an imaginative as
well as a practical creature, to discover in that unknown space. Here let me remark that the exploration of 1000 miles
in Australia is equal to 10,000 in any other part of the earth's surface, always excepting Arctic and Antarctic
travels.

There was room for snowy mountains, an inland sea, ancient river, and palmy plain, for races of new kinds of men
inhabiting a new and odorous land, for fields of gold and golcondas of gems, for a new flora and a new fauna, and,
above all the rest combined, there was room for me! Many well-meaning friends tried to dissuade me altogether, and
endeavoured to instil into my mind that what I so ardently wished to attempt was simply deliberate suicide, and to
persuade me of the truth of the poetic line, that the sad eye of experience sees beneath youth's radiant glow, so that,
like Falstaff, I was only partly consoled by the remark that they hate us youth. But in spite of their experience, and
probably on account of youth's radiant glow, I was not to be deterred, however, and at last I met with Baron von
Mueller, who, himself an explorer with the two Gregorys, has always had the cause of Australian exploration at heart,
and he assisting, I was at length enabled to take the field. Baron Mueller and I had consulted, and it was deemed
advisable that I should make a peculiar feature near the Finke river, called Chambers' Pillar, my point of departure
for the west. This Pillar is situated in latitude 24° 55´ and longitude 133° 50´, being 1200 miles from Melbourne in a
straight line, over which distance Mr. Carmichael, a black boy, and I travelled. In the course of our travels from
Melbourne to the starting point, we reached Port Augusta, a seaport though an inland town, at the head of Spencer's
Gulf in South Australia, first visited by the Investigator in 1803, and where, a few miles to the eastwards, a fine
bold range of mountains runs along for scores of miles and bears the gallant navigator's name. A railway line of 250
miles now connects Port Augusta with Adelaide. To this town was the first section of the Transcontinental telegraph
line carried; and it was in those days the last place where I could get stores for my expedition. Various telegraph
stations are erected along the line, the average distance between each being from 150 to 200 miles. There were eleven
stations between Port Augusta and Port Darwin. A railway is now completed as far as the Peake Telegraph Station, about
450 miles north-westwards from Port Augusta along the telegraph line towards Port Darwin, to which it will no doubt be
carried before many years elapse.

From Port Augusta the Flinders range runs almost northerly for nearly 200 miles, throwing out numerous creeks (I
must here remark that throughout this work the word creek will often occur. This is not to be considered in its English
acceptation of an inlet from the sea, but, no matter how far inland, it means, in Australia a watercourse.), through
rocky pine-clad glens and gorges, these all emptying, in times of flood, into the salt lake Torrens, that peculiar
depression which baffled Eyre in 1840-1. Captain Frome, the Surveyor-General of the Colony, dispelled the old
horse-shoe-shaped illusion of this feature, and discovered that there were several similar features instead of one. As
far as the Flinders range extends northwards, the water supply of the traveller in that region is obtained from its
watercourses. The country beyond, where this long range falls off, continues an extensive open stony plateau or plain,
occasionally intersected with watercourses, the course of the line of road being west of north. Most of these
watercourses on the plains fall into Lake Eyre, another and more northerly salt depression. A curious limestone
formation now occurs, and for some hundreds of miles the whole country is open and studded with what are called
mound-springs. These are usually about fifty feet high, and ornamented on the summit with clumps of tall reeds or
bulrushes. These mounds are natural artesian wells, through which the water, forced up from below, gushes out over the
tops to the level ground, where it forms little water-channels at which sheep and cattle can water. Some of these
mounds have miniature lakes on their summits, where people might bathe. The most perfect mound is called the Blanche
Cup, in latitude about 29° 20´, and longitude 136° 40´.

The water of some of these springs is fresh and good, the Blanche Cup is drinkable, but the generality of them have
either a mineral salt- or soda-ish taste; at first their effect is aperient, but afterwards just the opposite. The
water is good enough for animals.

The Honourable Sir Thomas Elder's sheep, cattle, horse, and camel station, Beltana, is the first telegraph station
from Port Augusta, the distance being 150 miles. The next is at the Strangways Springs, about 200 miles distant. This
station occupies a nearly central position in this region of mound-springs; it is situated on a low rise out of the
surrounding plain; all around are dozens of these peculiar mounds. The Messrs. Hogarth and Warren, who own the sheep
and cattle station, have springs with a sufficiently strong flow of water to spout their wool at shearing time. The
next telegraph station beyond the Strangways is the Peake, distant 100 miles. About twenty miles northward, or rather
north-westward, from the Peake the mound-springs cease, and the country is watered by large pools in stony watercourses
and creek beds. These pools are generally no more than twelve to fifteen miles apart. The waters in times of flood run
into Lake Eyre, which receives the Cooper and all the flood waters of West and South-western Queensland, and all the
drainage from the hundred watercourses of Central South Australia. The chief among the latter is the huge artery, the
Finke, from the north-west.

The Charlotte Waters Station, named after Lady Charlotte Bacon, the Ianthe of Byron, which was to be my last outpost
of civilisation, is a quadrangular stone building, plastered or painted white, having a corrugated iron roof, and a
courtyard enclosed by the two wings of the building, having loop-holes in the walls for rifles and musketry, a cemented
water-tank dug under the yard, and tall heavy iron gates to secure the place from attack by the natives.

I may here relate an occurrence at a station farther up the line, built upon the same principle. One evening, while
the telegraph master and staff were sitting outside the gates after the heat of the day, the natives, knowing that the
stand of arms was inside the courtyard, sent some of their warriors to creep unseen inside and slam the gates, so as to
prevent retreat. Then from the outside an attempt to massacre was made; several whites were speared, some were killed
on the spot, others died soon afterwards, but the greatest wonder was that any at all escaped.

The establishment at the Charlotte Waters stands on a large grassy and pebbly plain, bounded on the north by a
watercourse half a mile away. The natives here have always been peaceful, and never displayed any hostility to the
whites. From this last station I made my way to Chambers' Pillar, which was to be my actual starting-point for the
west.

Book 1.

Map 1
First Expedition, 1872.

Chapter 1.1. From 4th to 30th August, 1872.

The party. Port Augusta. The road. The Peake. Stony plateau. Telegraph station. Natives formerly
hostile. A new member. Leave the Peake. Black boy deserts. Reach the Charlotte Waters Station. Natives' account of
other natives. Leave last outpost. Reach the Finke. A Government party. A ride westward. End of the stony plateau. A
sandhill region. Chambers' Pillar. The Moloch horridus. Thermometer 18°. The Finke. Johnstone's range. A night alarm.
Beautiful trees. Wild ducks. A tributary. High dark hill. Country rises in altitude. Very high sandhills. Quicksands.
New ranges. A brush ford. New pigeon. Pointed hill. A clay pan. Christopher's Pinnacle. Chandler's Range. Another new
range. Sounds of running water. First natives seen. Name of the river. A Central Australian warrior. Natives burning
the country. Name a new creek. Ascend a mountain. Vivid green. Discover a glen and more mountains. Hot winds, smoke and
ashes.

The personnel of my first expedition into the interior consisted in the first instance of myself, Mr. Carmichael,
and a young black boy. I intended to engage the services of another white man at the furthest outpost that I could
secure one. From Port Augusta I despatched the bulk of my stores by a team to the Peake, and made a leisurely progress
up the overland road via Beltana, the Finniss and Strangways Springs stations. Our stores reached the Peake station
before us. This station was originally called Mount Margaret, but subsequently removed to the mound-springs near the
south bank of the Peake Creek; it was a cattle station formed by Mr. Phillip Levi of Adelaide. The character of the
country is an open stony plateau, upon which lines of hills or ranges rise; it is intersected by numerous watercourses,
all trending to Lake Eyre, and was an excellent cattle run. The South Australian Government erected the telegraph
station in the immediate vicinity of the cattle station. When the cattle station was first formed in 1862 the natives
were very numerous and very hostile, but at the time of my visit, ten years later, they were comparatively civilised.
At the Peake we were enabled to re-shoe all our horses, for the stony road up from Port Augusta had worn out all that
were put on there. I also had an extra set fitted for each horse, rolled up in calico, and marked with its name. At the
Peake I engaged a young man named Alec Robinson, who, according to his account, could do everything, and had been
everywhere, who knew the country I was about to explore perfectly well, and who had frequently met and camped with
blacks from the west coast, and declared we could easily go over there in a few weeks. He died at one of the telegraph
stations a year or two after he left me. I must say he was very good at cooking, and shoeing horses. I am able to do
these useful works myself, but I do not relish either. I had brought a light little spring cart with me all the way
from Melbourne to the Peake, which I sold here, and my means of transit from thence was with pack-horses. After a
rather prolonged sojourn at the Peake, where I received great hospitality from Mr. Blood, of the Telegraph Department,
and from Messrs. Bagot, the owners, and Mr. Conway, the manager, we departed for the Charlotte.

My little black boy Dick, or, as he used generally to write, and call himself, Richard Giles Kew, 1872, had been at
school at Kew, near Melbourne. He came to me from Queensland; he had visited Adelaide, Melbourne, and Sydney, and had
been with me for nearly three years, but his fears of wild natives were terribly excited by what nearly everybody we
met said to him about them. This was not surprising, as it was usually something to this effect, in bush parlance: “By
G — young feller, just you look out when you get outside! the wild blacks will [adjective] soon cook you.
They'll kill you first, you know — they will like to cut out your kidney fat! They'll sneak on yer
when yer goes out after the horses, they'll have yer and eat yer.” This being the burden of the strain continually
dinned into the boy's ears, made him so terrified and nervous the farther we got away from civilisation, that soon
after leaving the Peake, as we were camping one night with some bullock teams returning south, the same stories having
been told him over again, he at last made up his mind, and told me he wanted to go back with one of the teamsters; he
had hinted about this before, and both Carmichael and Robinson seemed to be aware of his intention. Force was useless
to detain him; argument was lost on him, and entreaty I did not attempt, so in the morning we parted. I shall mention
him again by-and-bye. He was a small, very handsome, light-complexioned, very intelligent, but childish boy, and was
frequently mistaken for a half-caste; he was a splendid rider and tracker, and knew almost everything. He was a great
wit, as one remark of his will show. In travelling up the country after he had been at school, we once saw some old
deserted native gunyahs, and he said to me as we rode by, pointing to them, “Gentleman's 'ouse, villa residence, I
s'pose, he's gone to his watering place for the season p'r'aps.” At another time, being at a place called Crowlands, he
asked me why it was called so. I replied pointing to a crow on a tree, “Why, there's the crow,” and stamping with my
foot on the ground, “there's the land;” he immediately said, “Oh, now I know why my country is called Queensland,
because it's land belonging to our Queen.” I said, “Certainly it is;” then he said, “Well, ain't it funny? I never knew
that before.” In Melbourne, one day, we were leaning out of a window overlooking the people continually passing by.
Dick said, “What for — white fellow always walk about — walk about in town — when he always rides in the bush?” I said,
“Oh, to do their business.” “Business,” he asked, “what's that?” I said, “Why, to get money, to be sure.” “Money,” he
said; “white fellow can't pick up money in the street.”

From the Peake we had only pack-horses and one little Scotch terrier dog. Dick left us at Hann's Creek, thirty miles
from the Peake. On our road up, about halfway between the Peake and the Charlotte, we crossed and camped at a large
creek which runs into the Finke, called the Alberga. Here we met a few natives, who were friendly enough, but who were
known to be great thieves, having stolen things from several bullock drays, and committed other robberies; so we had to
keep a sharp look out upon them and their actions. One of their number, a young man, could speak English pretty well,
and could actually sing some songs. His most successful effort in that line was the song of “Jim Crow,” and he
performed the “turn about and wheel about and do just so” part of it until he got giddy, or pretended to be; and to get
rid of him and his brethren, we gave them some flour and a smoke of tobacco, and they departed.

We arrived at the Charlotte Waters station on the 4th of August, 1872; this was actually my last outpost of
civilisation. My companion, Mr. Carmichael, and I were most kindly welcomed by Mr. Johnstone, the officer in charge of
this depot, and by Mr. Chandler, a gentleman belonging to a telegraph station farther up the line. In consequence of
their kindness, our stay was lengthened to a week. My horses were all the better for the short respite, for they were
by no means in good fettle; but the country having been visited by rains, grass was abundant, and the animals
improving. The party consisted only of myself, Carmichael, and Robinson; I could not now obtain another man to make up
our original number of four. We still had the little dog. during our stay at the Charlotte I inquired of a number of
the natives for information concerning the region beyond, to the west and north-west. They often used the words
“Larapinta and plenty black fellow.” Of the country to the west they seemed to know more, but it was very difficult to
get positive statements. The gist of their information was that there were large waters, high mountains, and plenty,
plenty, wild black fellow; they said the wild blacks were very big and fat, and had hair growing, as some said, all
down their backs; while others asserted that the hair grew all over their bodies, and that they eat pickaninnies, and
sometimes came eastward and killed any of the members of the Charlotte tribe that they could find, and carried off all
the women they could catch. On the 12th we departed, and my intended starting point being Chambers' Pillar, upon the
Finke River, I proceeded up the telegraph road as far as the crossing place of the above-named watercourse, which was
sixty miles by the road.

Chambers' Pillar.

In the evening of the day we encamped there, a Government party, under the charge of Mr. McMinn, surveyor, and
accompanied by Mr. Harley Bacon, a son of Lady Charlotte Bacon, arrived from the north, and we had their company at the
camp. Close to this crossing-place a large tributary joins the Finke near the foot of Mount Humphries. On the following
day Mr. McMinn, Mr. Bacon, and I rode up its channel, and at about twelve miles we found a water-hole and returned. The
country consisted chiefly of open sandhills well grassed. I mentioned previously that from Port Augusta, northwards and
north-westwards, the whole region consists of an open stony plateau, upon which mountain ranges stand at various
distances; through and from these, a number of watercourses run, and, on a section of this plateau, nearly 200 miles in
extent, the curious mound-springs exist. This formation, mostly of limestone, ceases at, or immediately before
reaching, the Finke, and then a formation of heavy red sandhills begins. Next day our friends departed for the
Charlotte, after making me several presents. From Mr. McMinn I obtained the course and distance of the pillar from our
camp, and travelling on the course given, we crossed the Finke three times, as it wound about so snake-like across the
country. On the 22nd we encamped upon it, having the pillar in full view.

The Moloch horridus.

The appearance of this feature I should imagine to be unique. For a detailed account of it my reader must consult
Stuart's report. Approaching the pillar from the south, the traveller must pass over a series of red sandhills, covered
with some scrubs, and clothed near the ground with that abominable vegetable production, the so-called spinifex or
porcupine grass — botanically, the Triodia, or Festuca irritans. The timber on the sandhills near the pillar is nearly
all mulga, a very hard acacia, though a few tall and well-grown casuarinas — of a kind that is new to me, namely the C.
Decaisneana — are occasionally met. (These trees have almost a palm-like appearance, and look like huge mops; but they
grow in the driest regions.) On our route Mr. Carmichael brought to me a most peculiar little lizard, a true native of
the soil; its colour was a yellowish-green; it was armed, or ornamented, at points and joints, with spines, in a row
along its back, sides, and legs; these were curved, and almost sharp; on the back of its neck was a thick knotty lump,
with a spine at each side, by which I lifted it; its tail was armed with spines to the point, and was of proportional
length to its body. The lizard was about eight inches in length. Naturalists have christened this harmless little
chameleon the Moloch horridus. I put the little creature in a pouch, and intended to preserve it, but it managed to
crawl out of its receptacle, and dropped again to its native sand. I had one of these lizards, as a pet, for months in
Melbourne. It was finally trodden on and died. It used to eat sugar.

By this time we were close to the pillar: its outline was most imposing. Upon reaching it, I found it to be a
columnar structure, standing upon a pedestal, which is perhaps eighty feet high, and composed of loose white sandstone,
having vast numbers of large blocks lying about in all directions. From the centre of the pedestal rises the pillar,
composed also of the same kind of rock; at its top, and for twenty to thirty feet from its summit, the colour of the
stone is red. The column itself must be seventy or eighty feet above the pedestal. It is split at the top into two
points. There it stands, a vast monument of the geological periods that must have elapsed since the mountain ridge, of
which it was formerly a part, was washed by the action of old Ocean's waves into mere sandhills at its feet. The stone
is so friable that names can be cut in it to almost any depth with a pocket-knife: so loose, indeed, is it, that one
almost feels alarmed lest it should fall while he is scratching at its base. In a small orifice or chamber of the
pillar I discovered an opossum asleep, the first I had seen in this part of the country. We turned our backs upon this
peculiar monument, and left it in its loneliness and its grandeur —“clothed in white sandstone, mystic, wonderful!”

From hence we travelled nearly west, and in seventeen miles came to some very high sandhills, at whose feet the
river swept. We followed round them to a convenient spot, and one where our horses could water without bogging. The bed
of the Finke is the most boggy creek-channel I have ever met. As we had travelled several miles in the morning to the
pillar, and camped eighteen beyond it, it was late in the afternoon when we encamped. The country we passed over was
mostly scrubby sandhills, covered with porcupine grass. Where we struck the channel there was a long hole of brine.
There was plenty of good grass on the river flat; and we got some tolerably good water where we fixed our camp. When we
had finished our evening meal, the shades of night descended upon us, in this our first bivouac in the unknown
interior. By observations of the bright stars Vega and Altair, I found my latitude was 24° 52´ 15´´; the night was
excessively cold, and by daylight next morning the thermometer had fallen to 18°. Our blankets and packs were covered
with a thick coating of ice; and tea left in our pannikins overnight had become solid cakes.

The country here being soft and sandy, we unshod all the horses and carried the shoes. So far as I could discern
with the glasses, the river channel came from the west, but I decided to go north-west, as I was sure it would turn
more northerly in time; and I dreaded being caught in a long bend, and having to turn back many miles, or chance the
loss of some or all the horses in a boggy crossing. To the south a line of hills appeared, where the natives were
burning the spinifex in all directions. These hills had the appearance of red sandstone; and they had a series of
ancient ocean watermarks along their northern face, traceable for miles. This I called Johnstone's Range. As another
night approached, we could see, to the north, the brilliant flames of large grass fires, which had only recently been
started by some prowling sons of the soil, upon their becoming aware of our presence in their domain. The nights now
were usually very cold. One night some wild man or beast must have been prowling around our camp, for my little dog
Monkey exhibited signs of great perturbation for several hours. We kept awake, listening for some sounds that might
give us an idea of the intruders; and being sure that we heard the tones of human voices, we got our rifles in
readiness. The little dog barked still more furiously, but the sounds departed: we heard them no more: and the rest of
the night passed in silence — in silence and beautiful rest.

We had not yet even sighted the Finke, upon my north-west course; but I determined to continue, and was rewarded by
coming suddenly upon it under the foot of high sandhills. Its course now was a good deal to the north. The horses being
heavily packed, and the spinifex distressing them so much, we found a convenient spot where the animals could water
without bogging, and camped. Hard by, were some clumps of the fine-looking casuarinas; they grow to a height of twenty
to twenty-five feet of barrel without a branch, and then spread out to a fine umbrella top; they flourish out of pure
red sand. The large sheet of water at the camp had wild ducks on it: some of these we shot. The day was very agreeable,
with cool breezes from the north-west. A tributary joins the Finke here from the west, and a high dark hill forms its
southern embankment: the western horizon is bounded by broken lines of hills, of no great elevation. As we ascend the
river, the country gradually rises, and we are here about 250 feet above the level of the Charlotte Waters Station.

Finding the river now trended not only northerly, but even east of north, we had to go in that direction, passing
over some very high sandhills, where we met the Finke at almost right angles. Although the country was quite open, it
was impossible to see the river channel, even though fringed with rows of splendid gum-trees, for any distance, as it
became hidden by the high sandhills. I was very reluctant to cross, on account of the frightfully boggy bed of the
creek, but, rather than travel several miles roundabout, I decided to try it. We got over, certainly, but to see one's
horses and loads sinking bodily in a mass of quaking quicksand is by no means an agreeable sight, and it was only by
urging the animals on with stock-whips, to prevent them delaying, that we accomplished the crossing without loss. Our
riding horses got the worst of it, as the bed was so fearfully ploughed up by the pack-horses ahead of them. The whole
bed of this peculiar creek appears to be a quicksand, and when I say it was nearly a quarter of a mile wide, its
formidable nature will be understood. Here a stream of slightly brackish water was trickling down the bed in a much
narrower channel, however, than its whole width; and where the water appears upon the surface, there the bog is most to
be apprehended. Sometimes it runs under one bank, sometimes under the opposite, and again, at other places the water
occupies the mid-channel. A horse may walk upon apparently firm sand towards the stream, when, without a second's
warning, horse and rider may be engulfed in quicksand; but in other places, where it is firmer, it will quake for yards
all round, and thus give some slight warning.

Crossing safely, and now having the river on my right hand, we continued our journey, sighting a continuous range of
hills to the north, which ran east and west, and with the glasses I could see the river trending towards them. I
changed my course for a conspicuous hill in this new line, which brought me to the river again at right angles; and,
having so successfully crossed in the morning, I decided to try it again. We descended to the bank, and after great
trouble found a spot firm enough and large enough to allow all the horses to stand upon it at one time, but we could
not find a place where they could climb the opposite bank, for under it was a long reach of water, and a quagmire
extending for more than a mile on either side. Two of our riding-horses were badly bogged in trying to find a get-away:
finally, we had to cut boughs and sticks, and bridge the place over with them. Thus we eventually got the horses over
one by one without accident or loss. In four miles we touched on a bend of the river again, but had no occasion to
recross, as it was not in our road. This day, having wasted so much time in the crossings, we travelled only fifteen
miles. The horizon from this camp was bounded from south-west, and west, round by north, to north-west, by ranges;
which I was not sorry to perceive. Those to the west, and south-west, were the highest and most pointed. It appears
that the Finke must come under or through some of those to the north-west. To-day I observed a most beautiful pigeon,
quite new to me; it was of a dark-brown colour, mottled under the throat and on the breast; it had also a high
top-knot. It is considerably smaller than the Sturt pigeon of his Central Australian expedition.

It was now the 28th of August, and the temperature of the atmosphere was getting warmer. Journeying now again about
north-west, we reached a peculiar pointed hill with the Finke at its foot. We passed over the usual red sandhill
country covered with the porcupine grass, characteristic of the Finke country, and saw a shallow sheet of yellow rain
water in a large clay pan, which is quite an unusual feature in this part of the world, clay being so conspicuous by
its absence. The hill, when we reached it, assumed the appearance of a high pinnacle; broken fragments of rock upon its
sides and summit showed it too rough and precipitous to climb with any degree of pleasure. I named it Christopher's
Pinnacle, after a namesake of mine. The range behind it I named Chandler's Range. For some miles we had seen very
little porcupine grass, but here we came into it again, to the manifest disgust of our horses. We had now a line of
hills on our right, with the river on our left hand, and in six or seven miles came to the west end of Chandler's
Range, and could see to the north and north-west another, and much higher the line running parallel to Chandler's
Range, but extending to the west as far as I could see. The country hereabouts has been nearly all burnt by the
natives, and the horses endeavour to pick roads where the dreaded triodia has been destroyed.

We passed a few clumps of casuarinas and a few stunted trees with broad, poplar-like leaves. Travelling for twelve
miles on this bearing, we struck the Finke again, running nearly north and south. Here the river had a stony bed with a
fine reach of water in it; so to-night at least our anxiety as regards the horses bogging is at an end. The stream
purling over its stony floor produces a most agreeable sound, such as I have not heard for many a day. Here I might
say, “Brightly the brook through the green leaflets, giddy with joyousness, dances along.”

Soon after we had unpacked and let go our horses, we were accosted by a native on the opposite side of the creek.
Our little dog became furious; then two natives appeared. We made an attempt at a long conversation, but signally
failed, for neither of us knew many of the words the other was saying. The only bit of information I obtained from them
was their name for the river — as they kept continually pointing to it and repeating the word Larapinta. This word,
among the Peake and Charlotte natives, means a snake, and from the continual serpentine windings of this peculiar and
only Central Australian river, no doubt the name is derived. I shot a hawk for them, and they departed. The weather
to-day was fine, with agreeable cool breezes; the sky has become rather overcast; the flies are very numerous and
troublesome; and it seems probable we may have a slight fall of rain before long.

A few drops of rain fell during the night, which made me regret that I had not our tarpaulins erected, though no
more fell. In the morning there was sultriness in the air though the sky was clear; the thermometer stood at 52°, and
at sunrise a smoky haze pervaded the whole sky. Whilst we were packing up the horses this morning, the same two natives
whom we saw last night, again made their appearance, bringing with them a third, who was painted, feathered, greased,
and red-ochred, in, as they doubtless thought, the most alarming manner. I had just mounted my horse, and rode towards
them, thinking to get some more information from the warrior as to the course of the creek, etc., but when they saw the
horse approaching they scampered off, and the bedizened warrior projected himself into the friendly branches of the
nearest tree with the most astonishing velocity. Perceiving that it was useless to try to approach them, without
actually running them to earth, we left them; and crossing the river easily over its stony bed, we continued north-west
towards a mountain in the ranges that traversed the horizon in that direction. The river appeared to come from the same
spot. A breeze from the north-west caused the dust raised by the pack-horses, which we drove in a mob before us,
travelling upon the loose soil where the spinifex had all been lately burnt, to blow directly in our faces. At five
miles we struck on a bend of a river, and we saw great volumes of smoke from burning grass and triodia rising in all
directions. The natives find it easier to catch game when the ground is bare, or covered only with a short vegetation,
than when it is clothed with thick coarse grasses or pungent shrubs. A tributary from the north, or east of north,
joined the Finke on this course, but it was destitute of water at the junction. Soon now the river swept round to the
westward, along the foot of the hills we were approaching. Here a tributary from the west joined, having a slender
stream of water running along its bed. It was exceedingly boggy, and we had to pass up along it for over two miles
before we could find a place to cross to enable us to reach the main stream, now to the north of us. I called this
McMinn's Creek.

On reaching the Finke we encamped. In the evening I ascended a mountain to the north-westward of us. It was very
rough, stony, and precipitous, and composed of red sandstone; its summit was some 800 feet above our camp. It had
little other vegetation upon it than huge plots of triodia, of the most beautiful and vivid green, and set with the
most formidable spines. Whenever one moves, these spines enter the clothes in all directions, making it quite a torture
to walk about among them. From here I could see that the Finke turned up towards these hills through a glen, in a
north-westerly direction. Other mountains appeared to the north and north-west; indeed this seemed to be a range of
mountains of great length and breadth. To the eastwards it may stretch to the telegraph line, and to the west as far as
the eye could see. The sun had gone down before I had finished taking bearings. Our road to-morrow will be up through
the glen from which the river issues. All day a most objectionable hot wind has been blowing, and clouds of smoke and
ashes from the fires, and masses of dust from the loose soil ploughed up by the horses in front of us, and blowing in
our faces, made it one of the most disagreeable days I ever passed. At night, however, a contrast obtained — the wind
dropped, and a calm, clear, and beautiful night succeeded to the hot, smoky, and dusty day. Vega alone gave me my
latitude here, close to the mouth of the glen, as 24° 25´ 12´´; and, though the day had been so hot and disagreeable,
the night proved cold and chilly, the thermometer falling to 24° by daylight, but there was no frost, or even any dew
to freeze.

Chapter 1.2. From 30th August to 6th September, 1872.

Milk thistle. In the glen. A serpentine and rocky road. Name a new creek. Grotesque hills. Caves and
caverns. Cypress pines. More natives. Astonish them. Agreeable scenery. Sentinel stars. Pelicans. Wild and picturesque
scenery. More natives. Palm-trees. A junction in the glen. High ranges to the north. Palms and flowers. The Glen of
Palms. Slight rain. Rain at night. Plant various seeds. End of the glen. Its length. Krichauff Range. The northern
range. Level country between. A gorge. A flooded channel. Cross a western tributary. Wild ducks. Ramble among the
mountains. Their altitude. A splendid panorama. Progress stopped by a torrent and impassable gorge.

Our start this morning was late, some of our horses having wandered in the night, the feed at the camp not being
very good; indeed the only green herb met by us, for some considerable distance, has been the sow or milk thistle
(Sonchus oleraceus), which grows to a considerable height. Of this the horses are extremely fond: it is also very
fattening. Entering the mouth of the glen, in two miles we found ourselves fairly enclosed by the hills, which shut in
the river on both sides. We had to follow the windings of the serpentine channel; the mountains occasionally forming
steep precipices overhanging the stream, first upon one side, then upon the other. We often had to lead the horses
separately over huge ledges of rock, and frequently had to cut saplings and lever them out of the way, continually
crossing and recrossing the river. On camping in the glen we had only made good eleven miles, though to accomplish this
we had travelled more than double the distance. At the camp a branch creek came out of the mountains to the westwards,
which I named Phillip's Creek. The whole of this line of ranges is composed of red sandstone in large or small
fragments, piled up into the most grotesque shapes. Here and there caves and caverns exist in the sides of the
hills.

View in the Glen of Palms.

A few trees of the cypress pine (Callitris) were seen upon the summits of the higher mounts. The hills and country
generally seen in this glen are more fertile than those outside, having real grass instead of triodia upon their sides.
I saw two or three natives just before camping; they kept upon the opposite side of the water, according to a slight
weakness of theirs. Just at the time I saw them, I had my eye on some ducks upon the water in the river bed, I
therefore determined to kill two birds with one stone; that is to say, to shoot the ducks and astonish the natives at
the same time. I got behind a tree, the natives I could see were watching me most intently the while, and fired. Two
ducks only were shot, the remainder of the birds and the natives, apparently, flying away together. Our travels to-day
were very agreeable; the day was fine, the breezes cool, and the scenery continually changing, the river taking the
most sinuous windings imaginable; the bed of it, as might be expected in such a glen, is rough and stony, and the old
fear of the horses bogging has departed from us. By bearings back upon hills at the mouth of the glen I found our
course was nearly north 23° west. The night was clear and cold; the stars, those sentinels of the sky, appeared
intensely bright. To the explorer they must ever be objects of admiration and love, as to them he is indebted for his
guidance through the untrodden wilderness he is traversing. “And sweet it is to watch them in the evening skies weeping
dew from their gentle eyes.” Several hundred pelicans, those antediluvian birds, made their appearance upon the water
early this morning, but seeing us they flew away before a shot could be fired. These birds came from the north-west;
indeed, all the aquatic birds that I have seen upon the wing, come and go in that direction. I am in hopes of getting
through this glen to-day, for however wild and picturesque the scenery, it is very difficult and bad travelling for the
unshod horses; consequently it is difficult to get them along. There was no other road to follow than the windings of
the river bed through this mountain-bound glen, in the same manner as yesterday. Soon after starting, I observed
several natives ahead of us; immediately upon their discovering us they raised a great outcry, which to our ears did
not exactly resemble the agreeable vibration of the melodious sound, it being quite the opposite. Then of course signal
fires were made which raised great volumes of smoke, the natives thinking perhaps to intimidate and prevent us from
farther advance. Neither of these effects was produced, so their next idea was to depart themselves, and they ran ahead
of us up the glen. I also saw another lot of some twenty or thirty scudding away over the rocks and stony hills — these
were probably the women and children. Passing their last night's encampment, we saw that they had left all their
valuables behind them — these we left untouched. One old gentleman sought the security of a shield of rock, where this
villain upon earth and fiend in upper air most vehemently apostrophised us, and probably ordered us away out of his
territory. To the command in itself we paid little heed, but as it fell in with our own ideas, we endeavoured to carry
it out as fast as possible. This, I trust, was satisfactory, as I always like to do what pleases others, especially
when it coincides with my own views.

“It's a very fine thing, and delightful to see

Inclination and duty both join and agree.”

Some of the natives near him threatened us with their spears, and waved knobbed sticks at us, but we departed
without any harm being done on either side.

The Palm-Tree Found in the Glen of Palms.

Soon after leaving the natives, we had the gratification of discovering a magnificent specimen of the Fan palm, a
species of Livistona, allied to one in the south of Arnhem's Land, and now distinguished as the Maria Palm (Baron von
Mueller), growing in the channel of the watercourse with flood drifts against its stem. Its dark-hued, dome-shaped
frondage contrasted strangely with the paler green foliage of the eucalyptus trees that surrounded it. It was a
perfectly new botanical feature to me, nor did I expect to meet it in this latitude. “But there's a wonderful power in
latitude, it alters a man's moral relations and attitude.” I had noticed some strange vegetation in the dry flood
drifts lower down, and was on the qui vive for something new, but I did not know that. This fine tree was sixty feet
long, or high, in the barrel. Passing the palms, we continued amongst the defiles of this mountain glen, which appears
to have no termination, for no signs of a break or anything but a continuation of the range could be observed from any
of the hills I ascended.

It was late in the afternoon when we left the palm-groves, and though we travelled over twenty miles in distance
could only make twelve good from last camp. Although this glen was rough and rocky, yet the purling of the water over
its stony bed was always a delightful sound to me; and when the winds of evening fanned us to repose, it seemed as
though some kindly spirit whispered that it would guard us while we slept and when the sun declined the swift stream
echoed on.

The following day being Sunday, the 1st September, I made it a day of rest, for the horses at least, whose feet were
getting sore from continued travel over rocks and boulders of stone. I made an excursion into the hills, to endeavour
to discover when and where this apparently interminable glen ceased, for with all its grandeur, picturesqueness, and
variety, it was such a difficult road for the horses, that I was getting heartily tired of it; besides this, I feared
this range might be its actual source, and that I should find myself eventually blocked and stopped by impassable
water-choked gorges, and that I should finally have to retreat to where I first entered it. I walked and climbed over
several hills, cliffs, and precipices, of red sandstone, to the west of the camp, and at length reached the summit of a
pine-clad mountain considerably higher than any other near it. Its elevation was over 1000 feet above the level of the
surrounding country. From it I obtained a view to all points of the compass except the west, and could descry
mountains, from the north-east round by north to the north-north west, at which point a very high and pointed mount
showed its top above the others in its neighbourhood, over fifty miles away. To the north and east of north a massive
chain, with many dome-shaped summits, was visible. Below, towards the camp, I could see the channel of the river where
it forced its way under the perpendicular sides of the hills, and at a spot not far above the camp it seemed split in
two, or rather was joined by another watercourse from the northwards. From the junction the course of the main stream
was more directly from the west. Along the course of the tributary at about ten miles I could see an apparently open
piece of country, and with the glasses there appeared a sheet of water upon it. I was glad to find a break in the
chain, though it was not on the line I should travel. Returning to my companions, I imparted to them the result of my
observations.

On Monday, the 2nd, there was a heaviness in the atmosphere that felt like approaching rain. The thermometer during
the night had not fallen below 60°; over 4° higher than at our first night's camp from the pillar. To-day, again
following the mazy windings of the glen, we passed the northern tributary noticed yesterday, and continued on over
rocks, under precipices, crossing and re-crossing the channel, and turning to all points of the compass, so that nearly
three miles had to be travelled to make good one. Clumps of the beautiful palms were occasionally passed, growing
mostly in the river bed, and where they appear, they considerably enliven the scenery. During my sojourn in this glen,
and indeed from first starting, I collected a great number of most beautiful flowers, which grow in profusion in this
otherwise desolate glen. I was literally surrounded by fair flowers of every changing hue. Why Nature should scatter
such floral gems upon such a stony sterile region it is difficult to understand, but such a variety of lovely flowers
of every kind and colour I had never met with previously. Nature at times, indeed, delights in contrasts, for here
exists a land “where bright flowers are all scentless, and songless bright birds.” The flowers alone would have induced
me to name this Glen Flora; but having found in it also so many of the stately palm trees, I have called it the Glen of
Palms. Peculiar indeed, and romantic too, is this new-found watery glen, enclosed by rocky walls, “Where dial-like, to
portion time, the palm-tree's shadow falls.”

While we were travelling to-day, a few slight showers fell, giving us warning in their way that heavier falls might
come. We were most anxious to reach the northern mouth of the glen if possible before night, so heartily tired were we
of so continuously serpentine a track; we therefore kept pushing on. We saw several natives to-day, but they invariably
fled to the fastnesses of their mountain homes, they raised great volumes of smoke, and their strident vociferations
caused a dull and buzzing sound even when out of ear-shot. The pattering of the rain-drops became heavier, yet we kept
on, hoping at every turn to see an opening which would free us from our prison-house; but night and heavier rain
together came, and we were compelled to remain another night in the palmy glen. I found a small sloping, sandy, firm
piece of ground, probably the only one in the glen, a little off from the creek, having some blood-wood or red
gum-trees growing upon it, and above the reach of any flood-mark — for it is necessary to be careful in selecting a
site on a watercourse, as, otherwise, in a single instant everything might be swept to destruction. We were fortunate
indeed to find such a refuge, as it was large enough for the horses to graze on, and there was some good feed upon it.
By the time we had our tarpaulins fixed, and everything under cover, the rain fell in earnest. The tributary passed
this morning was named Ellery's Creek. The actual distance we travelled to-day was eighteen miles; to accomplish this
we travelled from morn till night. Although the rain continued at intervals all night, no great quantity fell. In the
morning the heavens were clear towards the south, but to the north dense nimbus clouds covered the hills and darkened
the sky. Not removing the camp, I took another ramble into the hills to the east of the camp, and from the first rise I
saw what I was most anxious to see, that is to say, the end, or rather the beginning of the glen, which occurred at
about two miles beyond our camp. Beyond that the Finke came winding from the north-west, but clouds obscured a distant
view. It appeared that rain must still be falling north of us, and we had to seek the shelter of our canvas home. At
midday the whole sky became overclouded, rain came slowly down, and when the night again descended heavier still was
then the fall. At an hour after daylight on the morrow the greatest volume fell, and continued for several hours. At
midday it held up sufficiently to enable me to plant some seeds of various trees, plants, vegetables, etc., given me
specially by Baron von Mueller. Among these were blue gum (tree), cucumbers, melons, culinary vegetables, white maize,
prairie grass, sorghum, rye, and wattle-tree seeds, which I soaked before planting. Although the rain lasted thirty-six
hours in all, only about an inch fell. It was with great pleasure that at last, on the 5th, we left the glen behind us,
and in a couple of miles debouched upon a plain, which ran up to the foot of this line of ranges. The horses seemed to
be especially pleased to be on soft ground again. The length of this glen is considerable, as it occupies 31 minutes of
latitude. The main bearing of it is nearly north 25° west; it is the longest feature of the kind I ever traversed,
being over forty miles straight, and over a hundred miles of actual travelling, and it appeared the only pass through
the range, which I named the Krichauff. To the north a higher and more imposing chain existed, apparently about twenty
miles away. This northern chain must be the western portion of the McDonnell Range. The river now is broader than in
the glen; its bed, however, is stony, and not boggy, the country level, sandy, and thinly timbered, mostly all the
vegetation being burnt by grass fires set alight by the natives.

Travelling now upon the right bank of this stream, we cut off most of the bends, which, however, were by no means so
extensive or so serpentine as in the glen or on the south side of it. Keeping near the river bank, we met but little
porcupine grass for the most part of the day's stage, but there was abundance of it further off. The river took us to
the foot of the big mountains, and we camped about a mile below a gorge through which it issues. As we neared the new
hills, we became aware that the late rains were raising the waters of the river. At six miles before camping we crossed
a tributary joining the Finke at right angles from the west, where there are some ranges in that direction; a slight
stream was running down the bed. My next anxiety is to discover where this river comes from, or whether its sources are
to be found in this chain. The day was delightfully fine and cool, the breezes seemed to vibrate the echo of an air
which Music, sleeping at her instrument, had ceased to play. The ground is soft after the late rains. I said we camped
a mile below a gorge; at night I found my position to be in latitude 23° 40´, and longitude 132° 31´, the variation 3°
east. We shot a few ducks, which were very fat and good. This morning I took a walk into the hills to discover the best
route to take next. The high ranges north seem to be formed of three separate lines, all running east and west; the
most northerly being the highest, rising over 2000 feet above the level of the surrounding country, and, according to
my barometrical and boiling-point measurements, I found that at the Charlotte Waters I was 900 feet above the sea. From
that point up to the foot of these mountains the country had steadily risen, as we traced the Finke, over 1000 feet, so
that the highest points of that range are over 4000 feet above sea level; the most southerly of the three lines is
composed of sandstone, the middle and highest tiers I think change to granite. I climbed for several hours over masses
of hills, but always found one just a little farther on to shut out the view. At length I reached the summit of a high
round mountain in the middle tier, and a most varied and splendid panorama was spread before me, or I was spread before
it.

To the north was the main chain, composed for the most part of individual high mounts, there being a valley between
them and the hill I was on, and meandering along through this valley from the west I could trace the course of the
Finke by its timber for some miles. To the east a mass of high and jumbled hills appeared, and one bluff-faced mount
was more conspicuous than the rest. Nearer to me, and almost under my feet, was the gorge through which the river
passes, and it appears to be the only pass through this chain. I approached the precipice overlooking the gorge, and
found the channel so flooded by the late rains, that it was impossible to get the horses up through it. The hills which
enclosed it were equally impracticable, and it was utterly useless to try to get horses over them. The view to the west
was gratifying, for the ranges appeared to run on in undiminished height in that direction, or a little north of it.
From the face of several of the hills climbed to-day, I saw streams of pure water running, probably caused by the late
rains. One hill I passed over I found to be composed of puddingstone, that is to say, a conglomeration of many kinds of
stone mostly rounded and mixed up in a mass, and formed by the smothered bubblings of some ancient and ocean-quenched
volcano. The surface of the place now more particularly mentioned had been worn smooth by the action of the passage of
water, so that it presented the appearance of an enormous tessellated pavement, before which the celebrated Roman one
at Bognor, in Sussex, which I remember, when I was a boy, on a visit to Goodwood, though more artistically but not more
fantastically arranged, would be compelled to hide its diminished head. In the course of my rambles I noticed a great
quantity of beautiful flowers upon the hills, of similar kinds to those collected in the Glen of Palms, and these
interested me so greatly, that the day passed before I was aware, and I was made to remember the line, “How noiseless
falls the foot of Time that only treads on flowers.” I saw two kangaroos and one rock wallaby, but they were too wild
to allow me to approach near enough to get a shot at them. When I said I walked to-day, I really started on an old
favourite horse called Cocky, that had carried me for years, and many a day have I had to thank him for getting me out
of difficulties through his splendid powers of endurance. I soon found the hills too rough for a horse, so fixing up
his bridle, I said, “Now you stop there till I come back.” I believe he knew everything I said, for I used frequently
to talk to him. When I came back at night, not thinking he would stay, as the other horses were all feeding within half
a mile of him, there he was just as I had left him. I was quite inclined to rest after my scrambles in the hills.
During the night nothing occurred to disturb our slumbers, which indeed were aided by the sounds of the rippling
stream, which sang to us a soothing song.

I had come to the decision, as it was impossible to follow the Finke through the gorge in consequence of the flood,
and as the hills were equally impracticable, to fall back upon the tributary I had noticed the day before yesterday as
joining the river from the west, thinking I might in twenty or thirty miles find a gap in the northern range that would
enable me to reach the Finke again. The night was very cold, the thermometer at daylight stood at 28°. The river had
risen still higher in the night, and it was impossible to pass through the gorge. We now turned west-south-west, in
order to strike the tributary. Passing first over rough stony ridges, covered with porcupine grass, we entered a sandy,
thickly-bushed country, and struck the creek in ten miles. A new range lying west I expected to be the source of it,
but it now seemed to turn too much to the south. There was very poor grass, it being old and dry, but as the new range
to the west was too distant, we encamped, as there was water. This watercourse was called Rudall's Creek. A cold and
very dewy night made all our packs, blankets, etc., wet and clammy; the mercury fell below freezing point, but
instantly upon the sun's appearance it went up enormously. The horses rambled, and it was late when we reached the
western range, as our road was beset by some miles of dense scrubs. The range was isolated, and of some elevation. As
we passed along the creek, the slight flood became slighter still; it had now nearly ceased running. The day was one of
the warmest we had yet experienced. The creek now seemed not to come from the range, but, thinking water might be got
there so soon after rains, we travelled up to its foot. The country was sandy, and bedecked with triodia, but near the
range I saw for the first time on this expedition a quantity of the Australian grass-tree (Xanthorrhoea) dotting the
landscape. They were of all heights, from two to twenty feet. The country round the base of this range is not devoid of
a certain kind of wild beauty. A few blood-wood or red gum-trees, with their brilliant green foliage, enlivened the
scene.

A small creek, lined with gum-trees, issued from an opening or glen, up which I rode in search of water, but was
perfectly unsuccessful, as not a drop of the life-sustaining fluid was to be found. Upon returning to impart this
discouraging intelligence to my companions, I stumbled upon a small quantity in a depression, on a broad, almost square
boulder of rock that lay in the bed of the creek. There was not more than two quarts. As the horses had watered in the
afternoon, and as there was a quantity of a herb, much like a green vetch or small pea, we encamped. I ascended a small
eminence to the north, and with the glasses could distinguish the creek last left, now running east and west. I saw
water gleaming in its channel, and at the junction of the little creek we were now on; there was also water nearly
east. As the horses were feeding down the creek that way, I felt sure they would go there and drink in the night. It
is, however, very strange whenever one wants horses to do a certain thing or feed a certain way, they are almost sure
to do just the opposite, and so it was in the present case. On returning to camp by a circuitous route, I found in a
small rocky crevice an additional supply of water, sufficient for our own requirements — there was nearly a bucketful —
and felicity reigned in the camp. A few cypress pines are rooted in the rocky shelving sides of the range, which is not
of such elevation as it appeared from a distance. The highest points are not more than from 700 to 800 feet. I
collected some specimens of plants, which, however, are not peculiar to this range. I named it Gosse's range, after Mr.
Harry Gosse. The late rains had not visited this isolated mass. It is barren and covered with spinifex from turret to
basement, wherever sufficient soil can be found among the stones to admit of its growth.

The night of the 9th of September, like the preceding, was cold and dewy. The horses wandered quite in the wrong
direction, and it was eleven o'clock before we got away from the camp and went north to the sheet of water seen
yesterday, where we watered the horses and followed up the creek, as its course here appeared to be from the west. The
country was level, open, and sandy, but covered with the widely pervading triodia (irritans). Some more Xanthorrhoea
were seen, and several small creeks joined this from the ranges to the north. Small sheets of water were seen in the
creek as we passed along, but whether they existed before the late rains is very problematical. The weather is
evidently getting warmer. We had been following this creek for two days; it now turned up into a confined glen in a
more northerly direction. At last its northern course was so pronounced we had to leave it, as it evidently took its
rise amongst the low hills in that direction, which shut out any view of the higher ranges behind them. Our road was
now about west-north-west, over wretched, stony, barren, mallee (Eucalyptus) covered low hills or stony rises; the
mallee scrub being so thick, it was difficult to drive the horses through it. Farther on we crested the highest ground
the horses had yet passed over. From here with the glasses I fancied I saw the timber of a creek in a valley to the
north-west, in which direction we now went, and struck the channel of a small dry watercourse, whose banks were lined
with gum-trees. When there is any water in its channel, its flow is to the west. The creek joined another, in which,
after following it for a mile or two, I found a small pool of water, which had evidently lain there for many months, as
it was half slime, and drying up fast. It was evident the late rains had not fallen here.

In consequence of the windings of the creeks, we travelled upon all points of the compass, but our main course was a
little west of north-west. The day was warm enough, and when we camped we felt the benefit of what shade the creek
timber could afford. Some of the small vetch, or pea-like plant, of which the horses are so fond, existed here. To-day
we saw a single quandong tree (Fusanus; one of the sandal woods, but not of commerce) in full bearing, but the fruit
not yet ripe. I also saw a pretty drooping acacia, whose leaves hung in small bunches together, giving it an elegant
and pendulous appearance. This tree grows to a height of fifty feet; and some were over a foot through in the
barrel.

The flies to-day were exceedingly troublesome: a sure sign of increasing temperature. We saw some emus, but being
continually hunted by the natives, they were too shy to allow us to get within shot of them. Some emu steaks would come
in very handy now. Near our pool of slime a so-called native orange tree (Capparis), of a very poor and stunted habit,
grew; and we allowed it to keep on growing.

The stars informed me, in the night, that I was almost under the tropic line, my latitude being 23° 29´. The horses
fed well on the purple vetch, their bells melodiously tinkling in the air the whole night long. The sound of the
animals' bells, in the night, is really musical to the explorer's ear. I called the creek after Mr. Carmichael; and
hoping it would contain good water lower down, decided to follow it, as it trended to the west. We found, however, in a
few miles, it went considerably to the south of west, when it eventually turned up again to the north-west.

We still had the main line of mountains on our right, or north of us: and now, to the south, another line of low
hills trended up towards them; and there is evidently a kind of gap between the two lines of ranges, about twenty-five
miles off. The country along the banks of Carmichael's Creek was open and sandy, with plenty of old dry grass, and not
much triodia; but to the south, the latter and mallee scrub approached somewhat near. We saw several small ponds of
water as we passed along, but none of any size. In seven or eight miles it split into several channels, and eventually
exhausted itself upon an open grassy swamp or plain. The little plain looked bright and green. I found some rain water,
in clay pans, upon it. A clay pan is a small area of ground, whose top soil has been washed or blown away, leaving the
hard clay exposed; and upon this surface, one, two, three, or (scarcely) more inches of rain water may remain for some
days after rain: the longer it remains the thicker it gets, until at last it dries in cakes which shine like tiles;
these at length crumble away, and the clay pan is swept by winds clean and ready for the next shower. In the course of
time it becomes enlarged and deepened. They are very seldom deep enough for ducks.

The grass and herbage here were excellent. There were numerous kangaroos and emus on the plain, but they preferred
to leave us in undisturbed possession of it. There were many evidences of native camping places about here; and no
doubt the natives look upon this little circle as one of their happy hunting grounds. To-day I noticed a tree in the
mallee very like a Currajong tree. This being the most agreeable and fertile little spot I had seen, we did not shift
the camp, as the horses were in clover. Our little plain is bounded on the north by peculiar mountains; it is also
fringed with scrub nearly all round. The appearance of the northern mountains is singular, grotesque, and very
difficult to describe. There appear to be still three distinct lines. One ends in a bluff, to the east-north-east of
the camp; another line ends in a bluff to the north-north-east; while the third continues along the northern horizon.
One point, higher than the rest in that line, bears north 26° west from camp. The middle tier of hills is the most
strange-looking; it recedes in the distance eastwards, in almost regular steps or notches, each of them being itself a
bluff, and all overlooking a valley. The bluffs have a circular curve, are of a red colour, and in perspective appear
like a gigantic flat stairway, only that they have an oblique tendency to the southward, caused, I presume, by the wash
of ocean currents that, at perhaps no greatly distant geological period, must have swept over them from the north. My
eyes, however, were mostly bent upon the high peak in the northern line; and Mr. Carmichael and I decided to walk over
to, and ascend it. It was apparently no more than seven or eight miles away.

As my reader is aware, I left the Finke issuing through an impracticable gorge in these same ranges, now some
seventy-five miles behind us, and in that distance not a break had occurred in the line whereby I could either get over
or through it, to meet the Finke again; indeed, at this distance it was doubtful whether it were worth while to
endeavour to do so, as one can never tell what change may take place, in even the largest of Australian streams, in
such a distance. When last seen, it was trending along a valley under the foot of the highest of three tiers of hills,
and coming from the west; but whether its sources are in those hills, or that it still runs on somewhere to the north
of us, is the question which I now hope to solve. I am the more anxious to rediscover the Finke, if it still exists,
because water has been by no means plentiful on the route along which I have lately been travelling; and I believe a
better country exists upon the other side of the mountains.

At starting, Carmichael and I at first walked across the plain, we being encamped upon its southern end. It was
beautifully grassed, and had good soil, and it would make an excellent racecourse, or ground for a kangaroo hunt. We
saw numbers of kangaroos, and emus too, but could get no shots at them. In three miles the plain ended in thick, indeed
very dense, scrub, which continued to the foot of the hills; in it the grass was long, dry, and tangled with dead and
dry burnt sticks and timber, making it exceedingly difficult to walk through. Reaching the foot of the hills, I found
the natives had recently burnt all the vegetation from their sides, leaving the stones, of which it was composed,
perfectly bare. It was a long distance to the top of the first ridge, but the incline was easy, and I was in great
hopes, if it continued so, to be able to get the horses over the mountains at this spot. Upon arriving at the top of
the slope, I was, however, undeceived upon that score, for we found the high mount, for which we were steering,
completely separated from us by a yawning chasm, which lay, under an almost sheer precipice, at our feet. The high
mountain beyond, near the crown, was girt around by a solid wall of rock, fifty or sixty feet in height, from the edge
of which the summit rose. It was quite unapproachable, except, perhaps, in one place, round to the northward.

The solid rock of which it had formerly been composed had, by some mighty force of nature, been split into
innumerable fissures and fragments, both perpendicularly and horizontally, and was almost mathematically divided into
pieces or squares, or unequal cubes, simply placed upon one another, like masons' work without mortar. The lower strata
of these divisions were large, the upper tapered to pieces not much larger than a brick, at least they seemed so from a
distance. The whole appearance of this singular mount was grand and awful, and I could not but reflect upon the time
when these colossal ridges were all at once rocking in the convulsive tremblings of some mighty volcanic shock, which
shivered them into the fragments I then beheld. I said the hill we had ascended ended abruptly in a precipice; by going
farther round we found a spot, which, though practicable, was difficult enough to descend. At the bottom of some of the
ravines below I could see several small pools of water gleaming in little stony gullies.

The afternoon had been warm, if not actually hot, and our walking and climbing had made us thirsty; the sight of
water made us all the more so. It was now nearly sundown, and it would be useless to attempt the ascent of the
mountain, as by the time we could reach its summit, the sun would be far below the horizon, and we should obtain no
view at all.

It was, however, evident that no gap or pass existed by which I could get my horses up, even if the country beyond
were ever so promising. A few of the cypress or Australian pines (Callitris) dotted the summits of the hills, they also
grew on the sides of some of the ravines below us. We had, at least I had, considerable difficulty in descending the
almost perpendicular face to the water below. Carmichael got there before I did, and had time to sit, laving his feet
and legs in a fine little rock hole full of pure water, filled, I suppose, by the late rains. The water, indeed, had
not yet ceased to run, for it was trickling from hole to hole. Upon Mr. Carmichael inquiring what delayed me so long, I
replied: “Ah, it is all very easy for you; you have two circumstances in your favour. You are young, and therefore able
to climb, and besides, you are in the tropic.” To which he very naturally replies, “If I am in the tropic you must be
also.” I benignly answer, “No, you are in the tropic clime of youth.” While on the high ground no view of any kind,
except along the mountains for a mile or two east and west, could be obtained. I was greatly disappointed at having
such a toilsome walk for so little purpose. We returned by a more circuitous route, eventually reaching the camp very
late at night, thoroughly tired out with our walk. I named this mountain Mount Musgrave. It is nearly 1700 feet above
the level of the surrounding country, and over 3000 feet above the sea. The next day Mr. Carmichael went out to shoot
game; there were kangaroos, and in the way of birds there were emus, crows, hawks, quail, and bronze-winged pigeons;
but all we got from his expedition was nil. The horses now being somewhat refreshed by our stay here, we proceeded
across the little plain towards another high bluff hill, which loomed over the surrounding country to the
west-north-west. Flies were troublesome, and very busy at our eyes; soon after daylight, and immediately after sunrise,
it became quite hot.

Traversing first the racecourse plain, we then entered some mulga scrub; the mulga is an acacia, the wood extremely
hard. It grows to a height of twenty to thirty feet, but is by no means a shady or even a pretty tree; it ranges over
an enormous extent of Australia. The scrub we now entered had been recently burnt near the edge of the plain; but the
further we got into it, the worse it became. At seven miles we came to stones, triodia, and mallee, a low eucalyptus of
the gumtree family, growing generally in thick clumps from one root: its being rooted close together makes it difficult
travelling to force one's way through. It grows about twenty feet high. The higher grade of eucalypts or gum-trees
delight in water and a good soil, and nearly always line the banks of watercourses. The eucalypts of the mallee species
thrive in deserts and droughts, but contain water in their roots which only the native inhabitants of the country can
discover. A white man would die of thirst while digging and fooling around trying to get the water he might know was
preserved by the tree, but not for him; while an aboriginal, upon the other hand, coming to a mallee-tree, after
perhaps travelling miles through them without noticing one, will suddenly make an exclamation, look at a tree, go
perhaps ten or twelve feet away, and begin to dig. In a foot or so he comes upon a root, which he shakes upwards,
gradually getting more and more of it out of the ground, till he comes to the foot of the tree; he then breaks it off,
and has a root perhaps fifteen feet long — this, by the way, is an extreme length. He breaks the root into sections
about a foot long, ties them into bundles, and stands them up on end in a receptacle, when they drain out a quantity of
beautifully sweet, pure water. A very long root such as I have mentioned might give nearly a bucketful of water; but
woe to the white man who fancies he can get water out of mallee. There are a few other trees of different kinds that
water is also got from, as I have known it obtained from the mulga, acacia trees, and from some casuarina trees; it
depends upon the region they are in, as to what trees give the most if any water, but it is an aboriginal art at any
time or place to find it.

The mallee we found so dense that not a third of the horses could be seen together, and with great difficulty we
managed to reach the foot of a small pine-clad hill lying under the foot of the high bluff before mentioned — there a
small creek lined with eucalypts ran under its foot. Though our journey to-day was only twelve miles, that distance
through such horrible scrubs took us many hours. From the top of the piny hill I could see a watercourse to the south
two or three miles away; it is probably Carmichael's Creek, reformed, after splitting on the plain behind; Carmichael
found a little water-hole up this channel, with barely sufficient water for our use. The day had been disagreeably
warm. I rode over to the creek to the south, and found two small puddles in its bed; but there was evidently plenty of
water to be got by digging, as by scratching with my hands I soon obtained some. The camp which Carmichael and Robinson
had selected, while I rode over to the other creek, was a most wretched place, in the midst of dense mallee and amidst
thick plots of triodia, which we had to cut away before we could sit down.

The only direction in which we could see a yard ahead of us was up towards the sky; and as we were not going that
way, it gave us no idea of our next line of route. The big bluff we had been steering for all day was, I may say,
included in our skyward view, for it towered above us almost overhead. Being away when the camp was selected, I was
sorry to hear that the horses had all been let go without hobbles; as they had been in such fine quarters for three
nights at the last camp on the plain, it was more than probable they would work back through the scrub to it in the
night. The following morning not a horse was to be found! Robinson and I went in search of them, and found they had
split into several mobs. I only got three, and at night Robinson returned with only six, the remainder had been missed
in the dense scrubs. The thermometer stood at 95° in the shade, and there was a warm wind blowing. Robinson had a fine
day's work, as he had to walk back to the camp on the plain for the horses he got. In the afternoon I attempted the
high bluff immediately overlooking the camp. I had a bit of cliff-climbing, and reached the summit of one hill of some
elevation, 1300 feet, and then found that a vast chasm, or ravine, separated me from the main mountain chain. It would
be dark before I could — if I could — reach the summit, and then I should get no view, so I returned to the camp. The
height was considerable, as mountains in this part of the world go, as it towered above the hill I was upon, and was
500 or 600 feet higher. These mountains appear to be composed of a kind of conglomerate granite; very little timber
existed upon them, but they were splendidly supplied with high, strong, coarse spinifex. I slipped down a gully, fell
into a hideous bunch of this horrid stuff, and got pricked from head to foot; the spiny points breaking off in my
clothes and flesh caused me great annoyance and pain for many days after. Many beautiful flowers grew on the hillsides,
in gullies and ravines; of these I collected several. We secured what horses we had, for the night, which was warm and
sultry. In the morning Robinson and I rode after the still missing ones; at the plain camp we found all except one, and
by the time we returned it was night.

Not hobbling the horses in general, we had some difficulty in finding a pair of hobbles for each, and not being able
to do so, I left one in the mob without. This base reptile surreptitiously crawled away in the night by himself. As our
camp was the most wretched dog-hole it was possible for a man to get into, in the midst of dense mallee, triodia, and
large stones, I determined to escape from it, before looking for the now two missing animals. The water was completely
exhausted. We moved away south-westerly for about three miles, to the creek I had scratched in some days ago; now we
had to dig a big hole with a shovel, and with a good deal of labour we obtained a sufficient supply for a few days.

Having fixed our camp at a new place, in the afternoon of the 17th September, Robinson and I again went to look
after the horses. At three miles above the camp we found some water; soon after we got the tracks of one horse and saw
that he had been about there for a day or two, as the tracks were that age. We made a sweep out round some hills, found
the tracks again, much fresher, and came upon the horse about seven miles from the camp. The other horse was left for
to-morrow. Thermometer 96°, sky overcast, rain imminent.

During the night of the 18th of September a few heat-drops of rain fell. I sent Robinson away to the plain camp,
feeling sure he would find the rover there. A hot wind blew all day, the sand was flying about in all directions.
Robinson got the horse at last at the plain, and I took special care to find a pair of hobbles for him for this night
at all events. The flies were an intolerable nuisance, not that they were extraordinarily numerous, but so insufferably
pertinacious. I think the tropic fly of Australia the most abominable insect of its kind. From the summit of the hill I
ascended on Sunday, I found the line of mountains still ran on to the west, the furthest hills appeared fifty miles
away. As they extend so far, and are the principal features in sight, I shall follow them, in hopes of meeting some
creek, or river, that may carry me on to the west. It is a remarkable fact that such high hills as I have been
following should send out no creek whose course extends farther than ten or twelve miles. I could trace the creek I am
now on by its timber for only a few miles, its course appearing south of west. The country in its immediate
neighbourhood is open, and timbered with fine casuarina trees; the grass is dry and long, and the triodia approaches to
within a quarter of a mile of it. The line of hills I previously mentioned as running along to the south of us, we had
now run out. I named them Gardiner's Range, after a friend of Mr. Carmichael's. There is, however, one small isolated
hill, the furthest outpost of that line, some three miles away to the south-west; the creek may probably take a bend
down towards it. I called it Mount Solitary. This creek is rather well timbered, the gum-trees look fresh and young,
and there is some green herbage in places, though the surface water has all disappeared.

There was so little water at the camp tank, we had to send the horses up the creek three miles to water, and on
their return I was not sorry to be moving again, for our stay at these two last camps had been compulsory, and the
anxiety, trouble, and annoyance we had, left no very agreeable reminiscences of the locality in our minds.

We travelled along the creek all day, cutting off the bends, but without seeing any signs of water: towards evening
we set to work to try if we could get any by digging. In about four feet, water began to drain in, but, the sand being
so loose, we had to remove an enormous quantity to enable a horse to drink. Some of the horses would not go into it,
and had to be watered with a canvas bucket. The supply seemed good, but it only drained in from the sides. Every time a
horse drank we had to clear out the sand for the next; it therefore took until late before all were satisfied. The
country was still open, and timbered with fine black oak, or what is so called in Australia. It is a species of
casuarina, of the same family but distinct from the beautiful desert oak. Triodia reigned supreme within half a mile.
At this camp the old grass had been burnt, and fresh young green shoots appeared in its place; this was very good for
the horses. A few drops of rain fell; distant rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning now cooled the air. While
we were at breakfast the next morning, a thunderstorm came up to us from the west, then suddenly turned away, only just
sprinkling us, though we could see the rain falling heavily a few yards to the south. We packed up and went off, hoping
to find a better watered region at the hills westwards. There was an extraordinary mount a little to the west of north
from us; it looked something like a church; it was over twenty miles away: I called it Mount Peculiar. Leaving the
creek on our left, to run itself out into some lonely flat or dismal swamp, known only to the wretched inhabitants of
this desolate region — over which there seems to brood an unutterable stillness and a dread repose — we struck into
sandhill country, rather open, covered with the triodia or spinifex, and timbered with the casuarina or black oak
trees. We had scarcely gone two miles when our old thunderstorm came upon us — it had evidently missed us at first, and
had now come to look for us — and it rained heavily. The country was so sandy and porous that no water remained on the
surface. We travelled on and the storm travelled with us — the ground sucking up every drop that fell. Continuing our
course, which was north 67° west, we travelled twenty-five miles. At this distance we came in sight of the mountains I
was steering for, but they were too distant to reach before night, so, turning a little northward to the foot of a low,
bare, white granite hill, I hoped to find a creek, or at least some ledges in the rocks, where we might get some water.
Not a drop was to be found. Though we had been travelling in the rain all day and accomplished thirty miles, we were
obliged to camp without water at last. There was good feed for the horses, and, as it was still raining, they could not
be very greatly in want of water. We fixed up our tent and retired for the night, the wind blowing furiously, as might
reasonably be expected, for it was the eve of the vernal equinox, and this I supposed was our share of the equinoctial
gales. We were compelled in the morning to remove the camp, as we had not a drop of water, and unless it descended in
sheets the country could not hold it, being all pure red sand. The hill near us had no rocky ledges to catch water, so
we made off for the higher mountains for which we were steering yesterday. Their nearest or most eastern point was not
more than four miles away, and we went first to it. I walked on ahead of the horses with the shovel, to a small gully I
saw with the glasses, having some few eucalypts growing in it. I walked up it, to and over rocky ledges, down which at
times, no doubt, small leaping torrents roar. Very little of yesterday's rain had fallen here; but most fortunately I
found one small rock reservoir, with just sufficient water for all the horses. There was none either above or below in
any other basin, and there were many better-looking places, but all were dry. The water in this one must have stood for
some time, yesterday's rain not having affected it in the least. The place at which I found the water was the most
difficult for horses to reach; it was almost impracticable. After finding this opportune though awkwardly situated
supply, I climbed to the summit of the mount. On the top was a native fig-tree in full bearing; the fruit was ripe and
delicious. It is the size of an ordinary marble, yellow when unripe, and gradually becoming red, then black: it is full
of small seeds. I was disturbed from my repast by seeing the horses, several hundred feet below me, going away in the
wrong direction. And I had to descend before I had time to look around; but the casual glance I obtained gave me the
most gloomy and desolate view imaginable; one, almost enough to daunt the explorer from penetrating any farther into
such a dreadful region. To the eastward, I found I had now long outrun the old main chain of mountains, which had
turned up to the north, or rather north-north-westward; between me and it a mass of jumbled and broken mounts appeared;
each separate one, however, was almost surrounded by scrubs, which ran up to the foot of the hill I was upon. Northward
the view was similar. To the west the picture was the same, except that a more defined range loomed above the
intervening scrubs — the hills furthest away in that direction being probably fifty miles distant. The whole horizon
looked dark and gloomy — I could see no creeks of any kind, the most extensive water channels were mere gullies, and
not existing at all at a mile from the hills they issued from.

Watering our horses proved a difficult and tedious task; as many of them would not approach the rocky basin, the
water had to be carried up to them in canvas buckets. By the time they were all watered, and we had descended from the
rocky gully, the day had passed with most miraculous celerity. The horses did not finish the water, there being nearly
sufficient to give them another drink. The grass was good here, as a little flat, on which grew some yellow
immortelles, had recently been burnt. I allowed the horses to remain and drink up the balance of the water, while I
went away to inspect some other gorges or gullies in the hills to the west of us, and see whether any more water could
be found. The day was cool and fine.

I climbed to the summit of a hill about 800 feet from its base. The view was similar to yesterday's, except that I
could now see these hills ran on west for twelve or fifteen miles, where the country was entirely covered with scrubs.
Little gullies, with an odd, and stunted, gum-tree here and there, were seen. Few of these gullies were more than six
feet wide, and the trumpery little streams that descend, in even their most flooded state, would be of but little
service to anybody. I had wandered up and down hills, in and out of gullies, all the morning, but had met no single
drop of water, and was returning disappointed to the camp when, on trying one more small scrubby, dreadfully-rocky
little gully which I had missed, or rather passed by, in going out, I was fortunate enough to discover a few small
rocky holes full of the purest fluid. This treasure was small indeed, but my gratitude was great; for what pleased me
most was the rather strange fact that the water was trickling from one basin to another, but with the weakest possible
flow. Above and below where I found this water the gully and the rocks were as dry as the desert around. Had the supply
not been kept up by the trickling, half my horses would have emptied all the holes at a draught.

The approach to this water was worse, rougher, rockier, and more impracticable than at the camp; I was, however,
most delighted to have found it, otherwise I should have had to retreat to the last creek. I determined, however, not
to touch it now, but to keep it as a reserve fund, should I be unable to find more out west. Returning to camp, we gave
the horses all the water remaining, and left the spot perfectly dry.

We now had the line of hills on our right, and travelled nearly west-north-west. Close to the foot of the hills the
country is open, but covered with large stones, between the interstices of which grow huge bunches of the hideous
spinifex, which both we and the horses dread like a pestilence. We have encountered this scourge for over 200 miles.
All around the coronets of most of the horses, in consequence of their being so continually punctured with the spines
of this terrible grass, it has caused a swelling, or tough enlargement of the flesh and skin, giving them the
appearance of having ring-bones. Many of them have the flesh quite raw and bleeding; they are also very tender-footed
from traversing so much stony ground, as we have lately had to pass over. Bordering upon the open stony triodia ground
above-mentioned is a bed of scrubs, composed chiefly of mulga, though there are various other trees, shrubs, and plants
amongst it. It is so dense and thick that in it we cannot see a third of the horses at once; they, of course,
continually endeavour to make into it to avoid the stones and triodia; for, generally speaking, the pungent triodia and
the mulga acacia appear to be antagonistic members of the vegetable kingdom. The ground in the scrubs is generally
soft, and on that account also the horses seek it. Out of kindness, I have occasionally allowed them to travel in the
scrubs, when our direct course should have been on the open, until some dire mishap forces us out again; for, the
scrubs being so dense, the horses are compelled to crash through them, tearing the coverings of their loads, and
frequently forcing sticks in between their backs or sides and their saddles, sometimes staking themselves severely.
Then we hear a frantic crashing through the scrubs, and the sounds of the pounding of horse-hoofs are the first notice
we receive that some calamity has occurred. So soon as we ourselves can force our way through, and collect the horses
the best way we can, yelling and howling to one another to say how many each may have got, we discover one or two
missing. Then they have to be tracked; portions of loads are picked up here and there, and, in the course of an hour or
more, the horse or horses are found, repacked, and on we push again, mostly for the open, though rough and stony
spinifex ground, where at least we can see what is going on. These scrubs are really dreadful, and one's skin and
clothes get torn and ripped in all directions. One of these mishaps occurred to-day.

In these scrubs are met nests of the building rat (Mus conditor). They form their nests with twigs and sticks to the
height of four feet, the circumference being fifteen to twenty. The sticks are all lengths up to three feet, and up to
an inch in diameter. Inside are chambers and galleries, while in the ground underneath are tunnels, which are carried
to some distance from their citadel. They occur in many parts of Australia, and are occasionally met with on plains
where few trees can be found. As a general rule, they frequent the country inhabited by the black oak (casuarina). They
can live without water, but, at times, build so near a watercourse as to have their structures swept away by floods.
Their flesh is very good eating.

In ten miles we had passed several little gullies, and reached the foot of other hills, where a few Australian pines
were scattered here and there. These hills have a glistening, sheening, laminated appearance, caused by the vast
quantities of mica which abounds in them. Their sides are furrowed and corrugated, and their upper portions almost bare
rock. Time was lost here in unsuccessful searches for water, and we departed to another range, four or five miles
farther on, and apparently higher; therefore perhaps more likely to supply us with water. Mr. Carmichael and I ascended
the range, and found it to be 900 feet from its base; but in all its gullies water there was none. The view from the
summit was just such as I have described before — an ocean of scrubs, with isolated hills or ranges appearing like
islands in most directions. Our horses had been already twenty-four hours without water. I wanted to reach the far
range to the west, but it was useless to push all the pack-horses farther into such an ocean of scrubs, as our rate of
progress in them was so terribly slow. I decided to return to the small supply I had left as a reserve, and go myself
to the far range, which was yet some thirty miles away. The country southward seemed to have been more recently visited
by the natives than upon our line of march, which perhaps was not to be wondered at, as what could they get to live on
out of such a region as we had got into? Probably forty or fifty miles to the south, over the tops of some low ridges,
we saw the ascending smoke of spinifex fires, still attended to by the natives; and in the neighbourhood, no doubt,
they had some watering places. On our retreat we travelled round the northern face of the hills, upon whose south side
we had arrived, in hopes of finding some place having water, where I might form a depot for a few days. By night we
could find none, and had to encamp without, either for ourselves or our horses.

The following day seemed foredoomed to be unlucky; it really appeared as though everything must go wrong by a
natural law. In the first place, while making a hobble peg, while Carmichael and Robinson were away after the horses,
the little piece of wood slipped out of my hand, and the sharp blade of the knife went through the top and nail of my
third finger and stuck in the end of my thumb. The cut bled profusely, and it took me till the horses came to sew my
mutilated digits up. It was late when we left this waterless spot. As there was a hill with a prepossessing gorge, I
left Carmichael and Robinson to bring the horses on, and rode off to see if I could find water there. Though I rode and
walked in gullies and gorges, no water was to be found. I then made down to where the horses should have passed along,
and found some of them standing with their packs on, in a small bit of open ground, surrounded by dense scrubs, which
by chance I came to, and nobody near. I called and waited, and at last Mr. Carmichael came and told me that when he and
Robinson debouched with the horses on this little open space, they found that two of the animals were missing, and that
Robinson had gone to pick up their tracks. The horse carrying my papers and instruments was one of the truants.
Robinson soon returned, not having found the track. Neither of them could tell when they saw the horses last. I sent
Mr. Carmichael to another hill two or three miles away, that we had passed, but not inspected yesterday, to search for
water, while Robinson and I looked for the missing horses. And lest any more should retreat during our absence, we tied
them up in two mobs. Robinson tied his lot up near a small rock. We then separately made sweeps round, returning to the
horses on the opposite side, without success. We then went again in company, and again on opposite sides singly, but
neither tracks nor horses could be found. Five hours had now elapsed since I first heard of their absence. I determined
to make one more circuit beyond any we had already taken, so as to include the spot we had camped at; this occupied a
couple of hours. When I returned I was surprised to hear that Robinson had found the horses in a small but extra dense
bunch of scrub not twenty yards from the spot where he had tied his horses up. While I was away he had gone on top of
the little stony eminence close by, and from its summit had obtained a bird's-eye view of the ground below, and thus
perceived the two animals, which had never been absent at all. It seemed strange to me that I could not find their
tracks, but the reason was there were no tracks to find. I took it for granted when Carmichael told me of their absence
that they were absent, but he and Robinson were both mistaken.

It was now nearly evening, and I had been riding my horse at a fast pace the whole day; I was afraid we could not
reach the reserve water by night. But we pushed on, Mr. Carmichael joining us, not having found any water. At dusk we
reached the small creek or gully, up in whose rocks I had found the water on Sunday. At a certain point the creek split
in two, or rather two channels joined, and formed one, and I suppose the same ill fate that had pursued me all day made
me mistake the proper channel, and we drove the unfortunate and limping horses up a wretched, rocky, vile, scrubby,
almost impenetrable gully, where there was not a sup of water.

On discovering my error, we had to turn them back over the same horrible places, all rocks, dense scrubs, and
triodia, until we got them into the proper channel. When near the first little hole I had formerly seen, I dismounted,
and walked up to see how it had stood during my absence, and was grieved to discover that the lowest and largest hole
was nearly dry. I bounded up the rocks to the next, and there, by the blessing of Providence, was still a sufficient
quantity, as the slow trickling of the water from basin to basin had not yet entirely ceased, though its current had
sadly diminished since my last visit only some seventy hours since.

By this time it was dark, and totally impossible to get the horses up the gully. We had to get them over a horrible
ridge of broken and jumbled rocks, having to get levers and roll away huge boulders, to make something like a track to
enable the animals to reach the water.

Time (and labour) accomplishes all things, and in time the last animal's thirst was quenched, and the last drop of
water sucked up from every basin. I was afraid it would not be replenished by morning. We had to encamp in the midst of
a thicket of a kind of willow acacia with pink bark all in little curls, with a small and pretty mimosa-like leaf. This
bush is of the most tenacious nature — you may bend it, but break it won't. We had to cut away sufficient to make an
open square, large enough for our packs, and to enable us to lie down, also to remove the huge bunches of spinifex that
occupied the space; then, when the stones were cleared away, we had something like a place for a camp. By this time it
was midnight, and we slept, all heartily tired of our day's work, and the night being cool we could sleep in comfort.
Our first thought in the morning was to see how the basins looked. Mr. Carmichael went up with a keg to discover, and
on his return reported that they had all been refilled in the night, and that the trickling continued, but less in
volume. This was a great relief to my mind; I trust the water will remain until I return from those dismal-looking
mountains to the west. I made another search during the morning for more water, but without success, and I can only
conclude that this water was permitted by Providence to remain here in this lonely spot for my especial benefit, for no
more rain had fallen here than at any of the other hills in the neighbourhood, nor is this one any higher or different
from the others which I visited, except that this one had a little water and all the rest none. In gratitude therefore
to this hill I have called it Mount Udor. Mount Udor was the only spot where water was to be found in this abominable
region, and when I left it the udor had departed also. I got two of my riding-horses shod to-day, as the country I
intended to travel over is about half stones and half scrub. I have marked a eucalyptus or gum-tree in this gully close
to the foot of the rock where I found the water [EG/21], as this is my twenty-first camp from Chambers' Pillar. My
position here is in latitude 23° 14´, longitude 130° 55´, and variation 3° east nearly. I could not start to-day as the
newly shod horses are so tender-footed that they seem to go worse in their shoes; they may be better to-morrow. The
water still holds out. The camp is in a confined gully, and warm, though it is comparatively a cool day. The grass here
is very poor, and the horses wander a great deal to look for feed. Four of them could not be found in the morning. A
slight thunderstorm passed over in the night, with a sprinkling of rain for nearly an hour, but not sufficient fell to
damp a pocket-handkerchief. It was, however, quite sufficient to damp my hopes of a good fall. The flies are very
numerous here and troublesome. After watering my two horses I started away by myself for the ranges out west. I went on
our old tracks as far as they went, then I visited some other hills on my line of march. As usual, the country
alternated between open stones at the foot of the hills and dense scrubs beyond. I thought one of the beds of scrubs I
got into the densest I had ever seen, it was actually impenetrable without cutting one's way, and I had to turn around
and about in all directions. I had the greatest difficulty to get the horse I was leading to come on at all; I had no
power over him whatever. I could not use either a whip or a stick, and he dragged so much that he nearly pulled me out
of my saddle, so that I could hardly tell which way I was going, and it was extremely difficult to keep anything like a
straight course. Night overtook me, and I had to encamp in the scrubs, having travelled nearly forty miles. A few drops
of rain fell; it may have benefited the horses, but to me it was a nuisance. I was up, off my sandy couch early enough,
but had to wait for daylight before I could get the horses; they had wandered away for miles back towards the camp, and
I had the same difficulties over again when getting them back to where the saddles were. In seven or eight miles after
starting I got out of the scrubs. At the foot of the mountain for which I was steering there was a little creek or
gully, with some eucalypts where I struck it. It was, as all the others had been, scrubby, rocky, and dry. I left the
horses and ascended to the top, about 900 feet above the scrubs which surrounded it. The horizon was broken by low
ranges nearly all round, but scrubs as usual intervened between them. I descended and walked into dozens of gullies and
rocky places, and I found some small holes and basins, but all were dry. At this spot I was eighty miles from a
sufficient supply of water; that at the camp, forty-five miles away, may be gone by the time I return. Under these
circumstances I could not go any farther west. It was now evening again. I left these desolate hills, the Ehrenberg
Ranges of my map, and travelled upon a different line, hoping to find a better or less thick route through the scrubs,
but it was just the same, and altogether abominable. Night again overtook me in the direful scrubs, not very far from
the place at which I had slept the previous night; the most of the day was wasted in an ineffectual search for
water.

On Sunday morning, the 29th September, having hobbled my horses so short, although the scrubs were so thick, they
were actually in sight at dawn; I might as well have tied them up. Starting at once, I travelled to one or two hills we
had passed by, but had not inspected before. I could find no water anywhere. It was late when I reached the camp, and I
was gladdened to find the party still there, and that the water supply had held out so long. On the following morning,
Monday, the 30th of September, it was at a very low ebb; the trickling had ceased in the upper holes, though it was
still oozing into the lower ones, so that it was absolutely necessary to pack up and be off from this wretched place.
It was an expedition in itself to get water for the camp, from the rock basins above. The horses dreaded to approach it
on account of their tender feet. It required a lot of labour to get sufficient firewood to boil a quart pot, for,
although we were camped in a dense thicket, the small wood of which it was composed was all green, and useless for
firewood.

I intended to retreat from here to-day, but just as Robinson was starting to find the horses a shower of rain came
on, and hoping it might end in a heavier fall, I decided to remain until to-morrow, to give the rain a chance —
especially as, aided by the slight rain, the horses could do without a drink, there now being only one drink remaining,
as the trickling had entirely ceased, though we yet had the little holes full. The rain fell in a slight and gentle
shower two or three hours, but it left no trace of its fall, even upon the rocks, so that our water supply was not
increased by one pint.

To-morrow I am off; it is useless to remain in a region such as this. But where shall I go next? The creek I had
last got water in, might even now be dry. I determined to try and reach it farther down its channel. If it existed
beyond where I left it, I expected, in twenty-five to thirty miles, in a southerly direction, to strike it again:
therefore, I decided to travel in that direction. A few quandongs, or native peach trees, exist amongst these gullies;
also a tree that I only know by the name of the corkwood tree. (“Sesbania grandiflora,” Baron Mueller says,
“North-Western Australia; to the verge of the tropics; Indian Archipelago; called in Australia the corkwood tree;
valuable for various utilitarian purposes. The red-flowered variety is grandly ornamented. Dr. Roxburgh recommends the
leaves and young pods as an exquisite spinach; the plant is shy of frost.”) The wood is soft, and light in weight and
colour. It is by no means a handsome tree. It grows about twenty feet high. Generally two or three are huddled
together, as though growing from one stem. Those I saw were nearly all dead. They grow in the little water channels.
The ants here, as in nearly the whole of Tropical Australia, build nests from four to six feet high — in some other
parts I have known them twenty — to escape, I suppose, from the torrents of rain that at times fall in these regions:
the height also protects their eggs and stores from the fires the natives continually keep burning. This burning,
perhaps, accounts for the conspicuous absence of insects and reptiles. One night, however, I certainly saw glowworms.
These I have only seen in one other region in Australia — near Geelong, in Victoria. A tree called the native poplar
(Codonocarpus cotinifolius) is also found growing in the scrubs and water-channels of this part of the country. The
climate of this region appears very peculiar. Scarcely a week passes without thunderstorms and rain; but the latter
falls in such small quantities that it is almost useless. It is evidently on this account that there are no waters or
watercourses deserving of the name. I should like to know how much rain would have to fall here before any could be
discovered lying on the ground. All waters found in this part of the country must be got out of pure sand, in a water
channel or pure rock. The native orange-tree grows here, but the specimens I have met are very poor and stunted. The
blood-wood-trees, or red gum-trees, which always enliven any landscape where they are found, also occur. They are not,
however, the magnificent vegetable structures which are known in Queensland and Western Australia, but are mostly
gnarled and stunted. They also grow near the watercourses.

The 1st October broke bright and clear, and I was only too thankful to get out of this horrible region and this
frightful encampment, into which the fates had drawn me, alive. When the horses arrived, there was only just enough
water for all to drink; but one mare was away, and Robinson said she had foaled. The foal was too young to walk or
move; the dam was extremely poor, and had been losing condition for some time previously; so Robinson went back, killed
the foal, and brought up the mare. Now there was not sufficient water to satisfy her when she did come. Mr. Carmichael
and I packed up the horses, while Robinson was away upon his unpleasant mission. When he brought her up, the mare
looked the picture of misery. At last I turned my back upon this wretched camp and region; and we went away to the
south. It was half-past two o'clock when we got clear from our prison.

It is almost a work of supererogation to make many further remarks on the character of this region — I mean, of
course, since we left the Finke. I might, at a word, condemn it as a useless desert. I will, however, scarcely use so
sweeping a term. I can truly say it is dry, stony, scrubby, and barren, and this in my former remarks any one who runs
can read. I saw very few living creatures, but it is occasionally visited by its native owners, to whom I do not grudge
the possession of it. Occasionally the howls of the native dog (Canis familiaris)— or dingo as he is usually called —
were heard, and their footprints in sandy places seen. A small species of kangaroo, known as the scrub wallaby, were
sometimes seen, and startled from their pursuit of nibbling at the roots of plants, upon which they exist; but the
scrubs being so dense, and their movements so rapid, it was utterly impossible to get a shot at them. Their greatest
enemy — besides the wild black man and the dingo — is the large eagle-hawk, which, though flying at an enormous height,
is always on the watch; but it is only when the wallaby lets itself out, on to the stony open, that the enemy can swoop
down upon it. The eagle trusses it with his talons, smashes its head with its beak to quiet it, and, finally, if a
female, flies away with the victim to its nest for food for its young, or if a male bird, to some lonely rock or
secluded tarn, to gorge its fill alone. I have frequently seen these eagles swoop on to one, and, while struggling with
its prey, have galloped up and secured it myself, before the dazed wallaby could collect its senses. Other birds of
prey, such as sparrow-hawks, owls, and mopokes (a kind of owl), inhabit this region, but they are not numerous.
Dull-coloured, small birds, that exist entirely without water, are found in the scrubs; and in the mornings they are
sometimes noisy, but not melodious, when there is a likelihood of rain; and the smallest of Australian ornithology, the
diamond bird (Amadina) of Gould, is met with at almost every watering place. Reptiles and insects, as I have said, are
scarce, on account of the continual fires the natives use in their perpetual hunt for food.

On starting from Mount Udor, on the 1st October, our road lay at first over rocks and stones, then for two or three
miles through thick scrubs. The country afterwards became a trifle less scrubby, and consisted of sandhills, timbered
with casuarina, and covered, as usual, with triodia. In ten miles we passed a low bluff hill, and camped near it,
without any water. On the road we saw several quandong trees, and got some of the ripe fruit. The day was warm and
sultry; but the night set in cool, if not cold. Mr. Carmichael went to the top of the low bluff, and informed me of the
existence of low ridges, bounding the horizon in every direction except to the south-south-east, and that the
intervening country appeared to be composed of sandhills, with casuarinas, or mulga scrubs.

In Baron von Mueller's extraordinary work on Select Extra-tropical Plants, with indications of their native
countries, and some of their uses, these remarks occur:— “Acacia aneura, Ferd. v. Mueller. Arid desert — interior of
extra tropic Australia. A tree never more than twenty-five feet high. The principal ‘mulga’ tree. Mr. S. Dixon praises
it particularly as valuable for fodder of pasture animals; hence it might locally serve for ensilage. Mr. W. Johnson
found in the foliage a considerable quantity of starch and gum, rendering it nutritious. Cattle and sheep browse on the
twigs of this, and some allied species, even in the presence of plentiful grass; and are much sustained by such acacias
in seasons of protracted drought. Dromedaries in Australia crave for the mulga as food. Wood excessively hard,
dark-brown; used, preferentially, by the natives for boomerangs, sticks with which to lift edible roots, and shafts of
phragmites, spears, wommerahs, nulla-nullas, and jagged spear ends. Mr. J.H. Maiden determined the percentage of mimosa
tannic acid in the perfectly dry bark as 8.62.” The mulga bears a small woody fruit called the mulga apple. It somewhat
resembles the taste of apples, and is sweet. If crab apples, as is said, were the originals of all the present kinds, I
imagine an excellent fruit might be obtained from the mulga by cultivation. As this tree is necessarily so often
mentioned in my travels, the remarks of so eminent a botanist upon it cannot be otherwise than welcome.

In the direction of south-south-east Mr. Carmichael said the country appeared most open. A yellow flower, of the
immortelle species, which I picked at this little bluff, was an old Darling acquaintance; the vegetation, in many
respects, resembles that of the River Darling. There was no water at this bluff, and the horses wandered all over the
country during the night, in mobs of twos and threes. It was midday before we got away. For several hours we kept on
south-south-east, over sandhills and through casuarina timber, in unvarying monotony. At about five o'clock the little
mare that had foaled yesterday gave in, and would travel no farther. We were obliged to leave her amongst the
sandhills.

We continued until we had travelled forty miles from Mount Udor, but no signs of a creek or any place likely to
produce or hold water had been found. The only difference in the country was that it was now more open, though the
spinifex was as lively as ever.

We passed several quandong trees in full fruit, of which we ate a great quantity; they were the most palatable, and
sweetest I have ever eaten. We also passed a few Currajong-trees (Brachychiton). At this point we turned nearly east.
It was, however, now past sundown, too dark to go on any farther, and we had again to encamp without water, our own
small supply being so limited that we could have only a third of a pint each, and we could not eat anything in
consequence. The horses had to be very short-hobbled to prevent their straying, and we passed the night under the
umbrage of a colossal Currajong-tree. The unfortunate horses had now been two days and nights without water, and could
not feed; being so short-hobbled, they were almost in sight of the camp in the morning. From the top of a sandhill I
saw that the eastern horizon was bounded by timbered ridges, and it was not very probable that the creek I was
searching for could lie between us and them. Indeed, I concluded that the creek had exhausted itself, not far from
where we had left it. The western horizon was now bounded by low ridges, continuous for many miles. I decided to make
for our last camp on the creek, distant some five-and-twenty miles north-east. At five miles after starting, we came
upon a mass of eucalypts which were not exactly gum-trees, though of that family, and I thought this might be the end
of the exhausted creek channel, only the timber grew promiscuously on the tops of the sandhills, as in the lower ground
between them. There was no appearance of any flow of water ever having passed by these trees, and indeed they looked
more like gigantic mallee-trees than gums, only that they grew separately. They covered a space of about half a mile
wide. From here I saw that some ridges were right before me, at a short distance, but where our line of march would
intersect them they seemed so scrubby and stony I wished to avoid them. At one point I discerned a notch or gap. The
horses were now very troublesome to drive, the poor creatures being very bad with thirst. I turned on the bearing that
would take me back to the old creek, which seemed the only spot in this desolate region where water could be found, and
there we had to dig to get it. At one place on the ridges before us appeared a few pine-trees (Callitris) which enliven
any region they inhabit, and there is usually water in their neighbourhood. The rocks from which the pines grew were
much broken; they were yet, however, five or six miles away. We travelled directly towards them, and upon approaching,
I found the rocks upheaved in a most singular manner, and a few gum-trees were visible at the foot of the ridge. I
directed Carmichael and Robinson to avoid the stones as much as possible, while I rode over to see whether there was a
creek or any other place where water might be procured. On approaching the rocks at the foot of the ridge, I found
several enormous overhanging ledges of sandstone, under which the natives had evidently been encamped long and
frequently; and there was the channel of a small watercourse scarcely more than six feet wide. I rode over to another
overhanging ledge and found it formed a verandah wide enough to make a large cave; upon the walls of this, the natives
had painted strange devices of snakes, principally in white; the children had scratched imperfect shapes of hands with
bits of charcoal. The whole length of this cave had frequently been a large encampment. Looking about with some hopes
of finding the place where these children of the wilderness obtained water, I espied about a hundred yards away, and on
the opposite side of the little glen or valley, a very peculiar looking crevice between two huge blocks of sandstone,
and apparently not more than a yard wide. I rode over to this spot, and to my great delight found a most excellent
little rock tarn, of nearly an oblong shape, containing a most welcome and opportune supply of the fluid I was so
anxious to discover. Some green slime rested on a portion of the surface, but the rest was all clear and pure water. My
horse must have thought me mad, and any one who had seen me might have thought I had suddenly espied some basilisk, or
cockatrice, or mailed saurian; for just as the horse was preparing to dip his nose in the water he so greatly wanted, I
turned him away and made him gallop off after his and my companions, who were slowly passing away from this liquid
prize. When I hailed, and overtook them, they could scarcely believe that our wants were to be so soon and so agreeably
relieved. There was abundance of water for all our requirements here, but the approach was so narrow that only two
horses could drink at one time, and we had great difficulty in preventing some of the horses from precipitating
themselves, loads and all, into the inviting fluid. No one who has not experienced it, can imagine the pleasure which
the finding of such a treasure confers on the thirsty, hungry, and weary traveller; all his troubles for the time are
at an end. Thirst, that dire affliction that besets the wanderer in the Australian wilds, at last is quenched; his
horses, unloaded, are allowed to roam and graze and drink at will, free from the encumbrance of hobbles, and the
traveller's other appetite of hunger is also at length appeased, for no matter what food one may carry, it is
impossible to eat it without water. This was truly a mental and bodily relief. After our hunger had been satisfied I
took a more extended survey of our surroundings, and found that we had dropped into a really very pretty little
spot.

Low sandstone hills, broken and split into most extraordinary shapes, forming huge caves and caverns, that once no
doubt had been some of the cavernous depths of the ocean, were to be seen in every direction; little runnels, with a
few gum-trees upon them, constituted the creeks. Callitris or cypress pines, ornamented the landscape, and a few
blood-wood or red gum-trees also enlivened the scene. No porcupine, but real green grass made up a really pretty
picture, to the explorer at least. This little spot is indeed an oasis. I had climbed high hills, traversed untold
miles of scrub, and gone in all directions to try and pick up the channel of a wretched dry creek, when all of a sudden
I stumbled upon a perfect little paradise. I found the dimensions of this little tarn are not very large, nor is the
quantity of water in it very great, but untouched and in its native state it is certainly a permanent water for its
native owners. It has probably not been filled since last January or February, and it now contains amply sufficient
water to enable it to last until those months return, provided that no such enormous drinkers as horses draw upon it;
in that case it might not last a month. I found the actual water was fifty feet long, by eight feet wide, and four feet
deep; the rocks in which the water lies are more than twenty feet high. The main ridges at the back are between 200 and
300 feet high. The native fig-tree (Ficus orbicularis) grows here most luxuriantly; there are several of them in full
fruit, which is delicious when thoroughly ripe. I had no thought of deserting this welcome little spot for a few days.
On the following morning Mr. Carmichael and I loaded a pack-horse with water and started back into the scrub to where
we left the little mare the day before yesterday. With protractor and paper I found the spot we left her at bore from
this place south 70° west, and that she was now no more than thirteen or fourteen miles away, though we had travelled
double the distance since we left her. We therefore travelled upon that bearing, and at thirteen and a half miles we
cut our former track at about a quarter of a mile from where we left the mare. We soon picked up her track and found
she had wandered about a mile, although hobbled, from where we left her. We saw her standing, with her head down, under
an oak tree truly distressed. The poor little creature was the picture of misery, her milk was entirely gone — she was
alive, and that was all that could be said of her. She swallowed up the water we brought with the greatest avidity; and
I believe could have drank as much as a couple of camels could have carried to her. We let her try to feed for a bit
with the other three horses, and then started back for the tarn. On this line we did not intersect any of the
eucalyptus timber we had passed through yesterday. The mare held up very well until we were close to the camp, when she
gave in again; but we had to somewhat severely persuade her to keep moving, and at last she had her reward by being
left standing upon the brink of the water, where she was [like Cyrus when Queen Thomeris had his head cut off into a
receptacle filled with blood] enabled to drink her fill.

In the night heavy storm-clouds gathered o'er us, and vivid lightnings played around the rocks near the camp: a
storm came up and seemed to part in two, one half going north and the other south; but just before daybreak we were
awakened by a crash of thunder that seemed to split the hills; and we heard the wrack as though the earth and sky would
mingle; but only a few drops of rain fell, too little to leave any water, even on the surface of the flat rocks close
to the camp. This is certainly an extraordinary climate. I do not believe a week ever passes without a shower of rain,
but none falls to do any good: one good fallen in three or even six months, beginning now, would be infinitely more
gratifying, to me at least; but I suppose I must take it as I find it. The rain that does fall certainly cools the
atmosphere a little, which is a partial benefit.

I found several more caves to-day up in the rocks, and noticed that the natives here have precisely the same method
of ornamenting them as the natives of the Barrier Range and mountains east of the Darling. You see the representation
of the human hand here, as there, upon the walls of the caves: it is generally coloured either red or black. The
drawing is done by filling the mouth with charcoal powder if the device is to be black, if red with red ochre powder,
damping the wall where the mark is to be left, and placing the palm of the hand against it, with the fingers stretched
out; the charcoal or ochre powder is then blown against the back of the hand; when it is withdrawn, it leaves the space
occupied by the hand and fingers clean, while the surrounding portions of the wall are all black or red, as the case
may be. One device represents a snake going into a hole: the hole is actually in the rock, while the snake is painted
on the wall, and the spectator is to suppose that its head is just inside the hole; the body of the reptile is curled
round and round the hole, though its breadth is out of all proportion to its length, being seven or eight inches thick,
and only two or three feet long. It is painted with charcoal ashes which had been mixed up with some animal's or
reptile's fat. Mr. Carmichael left upon the walls a few choice specimens of the white man's art, which will help, no
doubt, to teach the young native idea, how to shoot either in one direction or another.

To-day it rained in light and fitful shallows, which, as usual, were of no use, except indeed to cause a heavy dew
which wet all our blankets and things, for we always camp without tent or tarpaulin whenever it does not actually rain.
The solar beams of morning soon evaporated the dew. To the west-south-west the natives were hunting, and as usual
burning the spinifex before them. They do not seem to care much for our company; for ever since we left the Glen of
Palms, the cave-dwelling, reptile-eating Troglodytes have left us severely alone. As there was a continuous ridge for
miles to the westward, I determined to visit it; for though this little tarn, that I had so opportunely found, was a
most valuable discovery, yet the number of horses I had were somewhat rapidly reducing the water supply, and I could
plainly perceive that, with such a strain upon it, it could not last much more than a month, if that; I must therefore
endeavour to find some other watered place, where next I may remove.

On the morning of the 7th October it was evident a warm day was approaching. Mr. Carmichael and I started away to a
small rocky eminence, which bore a great resemblance to the rocks immediately behind this camp, and in consequence we
hoped to find more water there. The rocks bore south 62° west from camp; we travelled over sandhills, through scrub,
triodia, and some casuarina country, until we reached the hill in twenty miles. It was composed of broken red sandstone
rock, being isolated from the main ridge; other similar heaps were in the vicinity.

We soon discovered that there was neither water nor any place to hold it. Having searched all about, we went away to
some other ridges, with exactly the same result; and at dark we had to encamp in the scrubs, having travelled forty
miles on fifty courses. The thermometer had stood at 91° in the shade, where we rested the horses in the middle of the
day. Natives' smokes were seen mostly round the base of some other ridges to the south-east, which I determined to
visit to-morrow; as the fires were there, natives must or should be also; and as they require water to exist, we might
find their hidden springs. It seemed evident that only in the hills or rocky reservoirs water could be found.

We slept under the shadow of a hill, and mounted to its top in the morning. The view was anything but cheering;
ridges, like islands in a sea of scrub, appeared in connection with this one; some distance away another rose to the
south-east. We first searched those near us, and left them in disgust, for those farther away. At eight or nine miles
we reached the latter, and another fruitless search was gone through. We then went to another and another, walking over
the stones and riding through the scrubs. We found some large rocky places, where water might remain for many weeks,
after being filled; but when such an occurrence ever had taken place, or ever would take place again, it was impossible
to tell. We had wandered into and over such frightful rocky and ungodly places, that it appeared useless to search
farther in such a region, as it seemed utterly impossible for water to exist in it all. Nevertheless, the natives were
about, burning, burning, ever burning; one would think they were of the fabled salamander race, and lived on fire
instead of water. The fires were starting up here and there around us in fresh and narrowing circles; it seems as
though the natives can only get water from the hollow spouts of some trees and from the roots of others, for on the
surface of the earth there is none. We saw a few rock wallaby, a different variety to the scrub or open sandhill kinds.
Bronze-winged pigeons also were occasionally startled as we wandered about the rocks; these birds must have water, but
they never drink except at sundown, and occasionally just before sunrise, then they fly so swiftly, with unerring
precision, on their filmy wings, to the place they know so well will supply them; and thirty, forty, or fifty miles of
wretched scrub, that would take a poor human being and his horse a whole day to accomplish, are passed over with the
quickness of thought. The birds we flushed up would probably dart across the scrubs to the oasis we had so recently
found. Our horses were getting bad and thirsty; the day was warm; 92° in the shade, in thirst and wretchedness, is hot
enough, for any poor animal or man either. But man enters these desolate regions to please himself or satisfy his
desire for ambition to win for himself — what? a medal, a record, a name? Well, yes, dear reader, these may enter into
his thoughts as parts of a tangible recognition of his labours; but a nobler idea also actuates him — either to find,
for the benefit of those who come after him, some beauteous spots where they may dwell; or if these regions can't
supply them, of deserts only can he tell; but the unfortunate lower is forced into such frightful privations to please
the higher animals. We now turned up towards the north-west, amongst scrubs, sandhills, and more stony ridges, where
another fruitless search ended as before. Now to the east of us rose a more continuous ridge, which we followed under
its (base) foot, hoping against hope to meet some creek or gully with water. Gullies we saw, but neither creeks or
water. We continued on this line till we struck our outgoing track, and as it was again night, we encamped without
water. We had travelled in a triangle. To-day's march was forty-three miles, and we were yet twenty-nine from the tarn
— apparently the only water existing in this extraordinary and terrible region.

In one or two places to-day, passing through some of the burning scrubs and spinifex, we had noticed the fresh
footprints of several natives. Of course they saw us, but they most perseveringly shunned us, considering us probably
far too low a type of animal for their society. We also saw to-day dilapidated old yards, where they had formerly
yarded emu or wallaby, though we saw none of their wurleys, or mymys, or gunyahs, or whatever name suits best. The
above are all names of the same thing, of tribes of natives, of different parts of the Continent — as Lubra,
Gin, Nungo, etc., are for woman. No doubt these natives carry water in wallaby or other animals'
skins during their burning hunts, for they travel great distances in a day, walking and burning, and picking up
everything alive or roasted as they go, and bring the game into the general camp at night. We passed through three
different lines of conflagrations to-day. I only wish I could catch a native, or a dozen, or a thousand; it would be
better to die or conquer in a pitched battle for water, than be for ever fighting these direful scrubs and getting
none. The following morning the poor horses looked wretched in the extreme; to remain long in such a region without
water is very severe upon them; it is a wonder they are able to carry us so well. From this desert camp our depot bore
north 40° east. The horses were so exhausted that, though we started early enough, it was late in the afternoon when we
had accomplished the twenty-nine or thirty miles that brought us at last to the tarn. Altogether they had travelled 120
miles without a drink. The water in the tarn had evidently shrunk. The day was warm — thermometer 92° in shadiest place
at the depot. A rest after the fatigue of the last few days was absolutely necessary before we made a fresh attempt in
some new locality.

Glen Edith.

It is only partly a day's rest — for I, at least, have plenty to do; but it is a respite, and we can drink our fill
of water. And oh! what a pleasure, what a luxury that is! How few in civilisation will drink water when they can get
anything else. Let them try going without, in the explorer's sense of the expression, and then see how they will long
for it! The figs on the largest tree, near the cave opposite, are quite ripe and falling; neither Carmichael nor
Robinson care for them, but I eat a good many, though I fancy they are not quite wholesome for a white man's digestive
organs; at first, they act as an aperient, but subsequently have an opposite effect. I called this charming little
oasis Glen Edith, after one of my nieces. I marked two gum-trees at this camp, one “Giles 24”, and another “Glen Edith
24 Oct 9, 72”. Mr. Carmichael and Robinson also marked one with their names. The receptacle in which I found the water
I have called the Tarn of Auber, after Allan Poe's beautiful lines, in which that name appears, as I thought them
appropriate to the spot. He says:—

“It was in the drear month of October,

The leaves were all crisped and sere,

Adown by the Tarn of Auber,

In the misty mid regions of Weir.”

If these are not the misty mid regions of Weir, I don't know where they are. There are two heaps of broken sandstone
rocks, with cypress pines growing about them, which will always be a landmark for any future traveller who may seek the
wild seclusion of these sequestered caves. The bearing of the water from them is south 51° west, and it is about a mile
on that bearing from the northern heap; that with a glance at my map would enable any ordinary bushman to find it. I
sowed a quantity of vegetable seeds here, also seeds of the Tasmanian blue gum-tree, some wattles and clover, rye and
prairie-grass. In the bright gleams of the morning, in this Austral land of dawning, it was beautiful to survey this
little spot; everything seemed in miniature here — little hills, little glen, little trees, little tarn, and little
water. Though the early mornings were cool and pleasant, the days usually turned out just the opposite. On the 11th Mr.
Carmichael and I got fresh horses, and I determined to try the country more to the south, and leaving Alec Robinson and
the little dog Monkey again in charge of glen, and camp, and tarn, away we went in that direction. At first we
travelled over sandhills, timbered with the fine Casuarina decaisneana, or desert oak; we then met some
eucalyptus-trees growing promiscuously on the tops of the sandhills, as well as in the hollows. At twelve miles we rode
over a low ridge; the country in advance appeared no more inviting than that already travelled. Descending to the lower
ground, however, we entered upon a bit of better country, covered with green grass, there was also some thick mulga
scrub upon it. Here we saw a few kangaroos and emus, but could not get a shot at them. Beyond this we entered timbered
country again, the desert oak being quite a desert sign. In a few miles farther another ridge fronted us, and a trifle
on our left lay a hollow, or valley, which seemed to offer the best road, but we had to ride through some very scrubby
gullies, stony, and covered with spinifex. It eventually formed the valley of a small creek, which soon had a few
gum-trees on it. After following this about four miles, we saw a place where the sand was damp, and got some water by
scratching with our hands. The supply was insufficient, and we went farther down and found a small hole with just
enough for our three horses, and now, having found a little, we immediately wanted to find a great deal more. At
twenty-six miles from the tarn we found a place where the natives had dug, and there seemed a good supply, so we camped
there for the night. The grass along this creek was magnificent, being about eight inches high and beautifully green,
the old grass having been burnt some time ago. It was a most refreshing sight to our triodia-accustomed eyes; at twelve
o'clock the thermometer stood at 94° in the shade. The trend of this little creek, and the valley in which it exists,
is to the south-east. Having found water here, we were prepared to find numerous traces of natives, and soon saw old
camps and wurleys, and some recent footmarks. I was exceedingly gratified to find this water, as I hoped it would
eventually enable me to get out of the wretched bed of sand and scrub into which we had been forced since leaving the
Finke, and which evidently occupies such an enormous extent of territory. Our horses fed all night close at hand, and
we were in our saddles early enough. I wanted to go west, and the further west the better; but we decided to follow the
creek and see what became of it, and if any more waters existed in it. We found that it meandered through a piece of
open plain, splendidly grassed, and delightful to gaze upon. How beautiful is the colour of green! What other colour
could even Nature have chosen with which to embellish the face of the earth? How, indeed, would red, or blue, or yellow
pall upon the eye! But green, emerald green, is the loveliest of all Nature's hues. The soil of this plain was good and
firm. The creek had now worn a deep channel, and in three miles from where we camped we came upon the top of a high red
bank, with a very nice little water-hole underneath. There was abundance of water for 100 or 200 horses for a month or
two, and plenty more in the sand below. Three other ponds were met lower down, and I believe water can always be got by
digging. We followed the creek for a mile or two farther, and found that it soon became exhausted, as casuarina and
triodia sandhills environed the little plain, and after the short course of scarcely ten miles, the little creek became
swallowed up by those water-devouring monsters. This was named Laurie's Creek.

There was from 6000 to 10,000 acres of fine grass land in this little plain, and it was such a change from the
sterile, triodia, and sandy country outside it, I could not resist calling it the Vale of Tempe. We left the exhausted
creek, and in ten miles from our camp we entered on and descended into another valley, which was open, but had no signs
of any water. From a hill I saw some ridges stretching away to the south and south-west, and to the west also appeared
broken ridges. I decided to travel about south-west, as it appeared the least stony. In eight miles we had met the
usual country. At eighteen we turned the horses out for an hour on a burnt patch, during which the thermometer stood at
94° in the shade; we then left for some ridges through a small gap or pass between two hills, which formed into a small
creek-channel. As it was now dark, we camped near the pass, without water, having travelled thirty-five miles. In the
morning we found the country in front of us to consist of a small well grassed plain, which was as green, as at the
last camp. The horses rambled in search of water up into a small gully, which joins this one; it had a few gum-trees on
it. We saw a place where the natives had dug for water, but not very recently. We scratched out a lot of sand with our
hands, and some water percolated through, but the hole was too deep to get any out for the horses, as we had no means
of removing the sand, having no shovel. Upon searching farther up the gully we found some good-sized rock-holes, but
unfortunately they were all dry. We next ascended a hill to view the surrounding country, and endeavour to discover if
there was any feature in any direction to induce us to visit, and where we might find a fresh supply of water. There
were several fires raging in various directions upon the southern horizon, and the whole atmosphere was thick with a
smoky haze. After a long and anxious scrutiny through the smoke far, very far away, a little to the west of south, I
descried the outline of a range of hills, and right in the smoke of one fire an exceedingly high and abruptly-ending
mountain loomed. To the south east-wards other ranges appeared; they seemed to lie nearly north and south.

The high mountain was very remote; it must be at least seventy or seventy-five miles away, with nothing apparently
between but a country similar to that immediately before and behind us; that is to say, sandhills and scrub. I was,
however, delighted to perceive any feature for which to make as a medium point, and which might help to change the
character and monotony of the country over which I have been wandering so long. I thought it not improbable that some
extensive watercourses may proceed from these new ranges which might lead me at last away to the west. For the present,
not being able to get water at this little glen, although I believe a supply can be obtained with a shovel, I decided
to return to the tarn at Glen Edith, which was now fifty-five miles away, remove the camp to the newly-found creek at
the Vale of Tempe, and then return here, open out this watering place with a shovel, and make a straight line for the
newly-discovered high mountain to the south. By the time these conclusions had been arrived at, and our wanderings
about the rocks completed, it was nearly midday; and as we had thirty-five miles to travel to get back to the creek, it
took us all the remainder of the day to do so; and it was late when we again encamped upon its friendly banks. The
thermometer to-day had stood at 96°. We now had our former tracks to return upon to the tarn. The morning was cool and
pleasant, and we arrived at the depot early. Alec Robinson informed me that he believed some natives had been prowling
about the camp in our absence, as the little dog had been greatly perturbed during two of the nights we were away. It
was very possible that some natives had come to the tarn for water, as well as to spy out who and what and how many
vile and wicked intruders had found their way into this secluded spot; but as they must have walked about on the rocks
they left no traces of their visit.

OCTOBER 15TH.

This morning's meal was to be the last we should make at our friendly little tarn, whose opportune waters, ripe
figs, miniature mountains, and imitation fortresses, will long linger in my recollection. Opposite the rocks in which
the water lies, and opposite the camp also, is a series of small fort-like stony eminences, standing apart; these form
one side of the glen; the other is formed by the rocks at the base of the main ridge, where the camp and water are
situated. This really was a most delightful little spot, though it certainly had one great nuisance, which is almost
inseparable from pine-trees, namely ants. These horrid pests used to crawl into and over everything and everybody, by
night as well as by day. The horses took their last drink at the little sweet-watered tarn, and we moved away for our
new home to the south.

It was late in the day when we left Glen Edith, and consequently very much later by the time we had unpacked all the
horses at the end of our twenty-nine mile stage; it was then too dark to reach the lower or best water-holes. To-day
there was an uncommon reversal of the usual order in the weather — the early part of the day being hot and sultry, but
towards evening the sky became overcast and cloudy, and the evening set in cold and windy. Next morning we found that
one horse had staked himself in the coronet very severely, and that he was quite lame. I got some mulga wood out of the
wound, but am afraid there is much still remaining. This wood, used by the natives for spear-heads, contains a virulent
poisonous property, and a spear or stake wound with it is very dangerous. The little mare that foaled at Mount Udor,
and was such an object of commiseration, has picked up wonderfully, and is now in good working condition. I have
another mare, Marzetti, soon to foal; but as she is fat, I do not anticipate having to destroy her progeny. We did not
move the camp to-day. Numbers of bronze-winged pigeons came to drink, and we shot several of them. The following day
Mr. Carmichael and I again mounted our horses, taking with us a week's supply of rations, and started off intending to
visit the high mountain seen at our last farthest point. We left Alec Robinson again in charge of the camp, as he had
now got quite used to it, and said he liked it. He always had my little dog Monkey for a companion. When travelling
through the spinifex we carried the little animal. He is an excellent watchdog, and not a bird can come near the camp
without his giving warning. Alec had plenty of firearms and ammunition to defend himself with, in case of an attack
from the natives. This, however, I did not anticipate; indeed, I wished they would come (in a friendly way), and had
instructed Alec to endeavour to detain one or two of them until my return if they should chance to approach. Alec was a
very strange, indeed disagreeable and sometimes uncivil, sort of man; he had found our travels so different from his
preconceived ideas, as he thought he was going on a picnic, and he often grumbled and declared he would like to go back
again. However, to remain at the camp, with nothing whatever to do and plenty to eat, admirably suited him, and I felt
no compunction in leaving him by himself. I would not have asked him to remain if I were in any way alarmed at his
position.

We travelled now by a slightly different route, more easterly, as there were other ridges in that direction, and we
might find another and better watering place than that at the pass. It is only at or near ridges in this strange region
that the traveller can expect to find water, as in the sandy beds of scrub intervening between them, water would simply
sink away. We passed through some very thick mulga, which, being mostly dead, ripped our pack-bags, clothes, and skin,
as we had continually to push the persistent boughs and branches aside to penetrate it. We reached a hill in twenty
miles, and saw at a glance that no favourable signs of obtaining water existed, for it was merely a pile of loose
stones or rocks standing up above the scrubs around. The view was desolate in the extreme; we had now come thirty
miles, but we pushed on ten miles for another hill, to the south-east, and after penetrating the usual scrub, we
reached its base in the dark, and camped. In the morning I climbed the hill, but no water could be seen or procured.
This hill was rugged with broken granite boulders, scrubby with mulga and bushes, and covered with triodia to its
summit. To the south a vague and strange horizon was visible; it appeared flat, as though a plain of great extent
existed there, but as the mirage played upon it, I could not make anything of it. My old friend the high mountain
loomed large and abrupt at a great distance off, and it bore 8° 30´ west from here, too great a distance for us to
proceed to it at once, without first getting water for our horses, as it was possible that no water might exist even in
the neighbourhood of such a considerable mountain. The horses rambled in the night; when they were found we started
away for the little pass and glen where we knew water was to be got, and which was now some thirty miles away to the
west-north-west. We reached it somewhat late. The day was hot, thermometer 98° in shade, and the horses very thirsty,
but they could get no water until we had dug a place for them. Although we had reached our camping ground our day's
work was only about to commence. We were not long in obtaining enough water for ourselves, such as it was — thick and
dirty with a nauseous flavour — but first we had to tie the horses up, to prevent them jumping in on us. We found to
our grief that but a poor supply was to be expected, and though we had not to dig very deep, yet we had to remove an
enormous quantity of sand, so as to create a sufficient surface to get water to run in, and had to dig a tank twenty
feet long by six feet deep, and six feet wide at the bottom, though at the top it was much wider. I may remark — and
what I now say applies to almost every other water I ever got by digging in all my wanderings — that whenever we
commenced to dig, a swarm of large and small red hornets immediately came around us, and, generally speaking, diamond
birds (Amadina) would also come and twitter near, and when water was got, would drink in great numbers. With regard to
the hornets, though they swarmed round our heads and faces in clouds, no one was ever stung by them, nature and
instinct informing them that we were their friends. We worked and waited for two hours before one of our three horses
could obtain a drink. The water came so slowly in that it took nearly all the night before the last animal's thirst was
assuaged, as by the time the third got a drink, the first was ready to begin again, and they kept returning all through
the night. We rested our horses here to-day to allow them to fill themselves with food, as no doubt they will require
all the support they can get to sustain them in their work before we reach the distant mountain. We passed the day in
enlarging the tank, and were glad to find that, though no increase in the supply of water was observable, still there
seemed no diminution, as now a horse could fill himself at one spell. We took a stroll up into the rocks and gullies of
the ridges, and found a Troglodytes' cave ornamented with the choicest specimens of aboriginal art. The rude figures of
snakes were the principal objects, but hands, and devices for shields were also conspicuous. One hieroglyph was most
striking; it consisted of two Roman numerals — a V and an I, placed together and representing the figure VI; they were
both daubed over with spots, and were painted with red ochre. Several large rock-holes were seen, but they had all long
lain dry. A few cypress pines grew upon the rocks in several places. The day was decidedly hot; the thermometer stood
at 100° in the shade at three o'clock, and we had to fix up a cloth for an awning to get sufficient shade to sit under.
Our only intellectual occupation was the study of a small map of Australia, showing the routes of the Australian
explorers. How often we noted the facility with which other and more fortunate travellers dropped upon fine creeks and
large rivers. We could only envy them their good fortune, and hope the future had some prizes in store for us also. The
next morning, after taking three hours to water our horses, we started on the bearing of the high mount, which could
not be seen from the low ground, the bearing being south 18° west. We got clear of the low hills of the glen, and
almost immediately entered thick scrubs, varied by high sandhills, with casuarina and triodia on them. At twelve miles
I noticed the sandhills became denuded of timber, and on our right a small and apparently grassy plain was visible; I
took these signs as a favourable indication of a change of country. At three miles farther we had a white salt channel
right in front of us, with some sheets of water in it; upon approaching I found it a perfect bog, and the water brine
itself. We went round this channel to the left, and at length found a place firm enough to cross. We continued upon our
course, and on ascending a high sandhill I found we had upon our right hand, and stretching away to the west, an
enormous salt expanse, and it appeared as if we had hit exactly upon the eastern edge of it, at which we rejoiced
greatly for a time. Continuing on our course over treeless sandhills for a mile or two, we found we had not escaped
this feature quite so easily, for it was now right in our road; it appeared, however, to be bounded by sandhills a
little more to the left, eastwards; so we went in that direction, but at each succeeding mile we saw more and more of
this objectionable feature; it continually pushed us farther and farther to the east, until, having travelled about
fifteen miles, and had it constantly on our right, it swept round under some more sandhills which hid it from us, till
it lay east and west right athwart our path. It was most perplexing to me to be thus confronted by such an obstacle. We
walked a distance on its surface, and to our weight it seemed firm enough, but the instant we tried our horses they
almost disappeared. The surface was dry and encrusted with salt, but brine spurted out at every step the horses took.
We dug a well under a sandhill, but only obtained brine.

This obstruction was apparently six or seven miles across, but whether what we took for its opposite shores were
islands or the main, I could not determine. We saw several sandhill islands, some very high and deeply red, to which
the mirage gave the effect of their floating in an ocean of water. Farther along the shore eastwards were several high
red sandhills; to these we went and dug another well and got more brine. We could see the lake stretching away east or
east-south-east as far as the glasses could carry the vision. Here we made another attempt to cross, but the horses
were all floundering about in the bottomless bed of this infernal lake before we could look round. I made sure they
would be swallowed up before our eyes. We were powerless to help them, for we could not get near owing to the bog, and
we sank up over our knees, where the crust was broken, in hot salt mud. All I could do was to crack my whip to prevent
the horses from ceasing to exert themselves, and although it was but a few moments that they were in this danger, to me
it seemed an eternity. They staggered at last out of the quagmire, heads, backs, saddles, everything covered with blue
mud, their mouths were filled with salt mud also, and they were completely exhausted when they reached firm ground. We
let them rest in the shade of some quandong trees, which grew in great numbers round about here. From Mount Udor to the
shores of this lake the country had been continually falling. The northern base of each ridge, as we travelled, seemed
higher by many feet than the southern, and I had hoped to come upon something better than this. I thought such a
continued fall of country might lead to a considerable watercourse or freshwater basin; but this salt bog was dreadful,
the more especially as it prevented me reaching the mountain which appeared so inviting beyond.

Not seeing any possibility of pushing south, and thinking after all it might not be so far round the lake to the
west, I turned to where we had struck the first salt channel, and resolved to try what a more westerly line would
produce. The channel in question was now some fifteen miles away to the north-westward, and by the time we got back
there the day was done and “the darkness had fallen from the wings of night.” We had travelled nearly fifty miles, the
horses were almost dead; the thermometer stood at 100° in the shade when we rested under the quandongs. In the night
blankets were unendurable. Had there been any food for them the horses could not eat for thirst, and were too much
fatigued by yesterday's toil to go out of sight of our camping place. We followed along the course of the lake north of
west for seven miles, when we were checked by a salt arm running north-eastwards; this we could not cross until we had
gone up it a distance of three miles. Then we made for some low ridges lying west-south-west and reached them in twelve
miles. There was neither watercourse, channel, nor rock-holes; we wandered for several miles round the ridges, looking
for water, but without success, and got back on our morning's tracks when we had travelled thirty miles. From the top
of these ridges the lake could be seen stretching away to the west or west-south-west in vast proportions, having
several salt arms running back from it at various distances. Very far to the west was another ridge, but it was too
distant for me to reach now, as to-night the horses would have been two nights without water, and the probability was
they would get none there if they reached it. I determined to visit it, however, but I felt I must first return to the
tank in the little glen to refresh the exhausted horses. From where we are, the prospect is wild and weird, with the
white bed of the great lake sweeping nearly the whole southern horizon. The country near the lake consists of open
sandhills, thickly bushed and covered with triodia; farther back grew casuarinas and mulga scrubs.

It was long past the middle of the day when I descended from the hill. We had no alternative but to return to the
only spot where we knew water was to be had; this was now distant twenty-one miles to the north-east, so we departed in
a straight line for it. I was heartily annoyed at being baffled in my attempt to reach the mountain, which I now
thought more than ever would offer a route out of this terrible region; but it seemed impossible to escape from it. I
named this eminence Mount Olga, and the great salt feature which obstructed me Lake Amadeus, in honour of two
enlightened royal patrons of science. The horses were now exceedingly weak; the bogging of yesterday had taken a great
deal of strength out of them, and the heat of the last two days had contributed to weaken them (the thermometer to-day
went up to 101° in shade). They could now only travel slowly, so that it was late at night when we reached the little
tank. Fifty miles over such disheartening country to-day has been almost too much for the poor animals. In the tank
there was only sufficient water for one horse; the others had to be tied up and wait their turns to drink, and the
water percolated so slowly through the sand it was nearly midnight before they were all satisfied and begun to feed.
What wonderful creatures horses are! They can work for two and three days and go three nights without water, but they
can go for ever without sleep; it is true they do sleep, but equally true that they can go without sleeping. If I took
my choice of all creation for a beast to guard and give me warning while I slept, I would select the horse, for he is
the most sleepless creature Nature has made. Horses seem to know this; for if you should by chance catch one asleep he
seems very indignant either with you or himself.

It was absolutely necessary to give our horses a day's rest, as they looked so much out of sorts this morning. A
quarter of the day was spent in watering them, and by that time it was quite hot, and we had to erect an awning for
shade. We were overrun by ants, and pestered by flies, so in self-defence we took another walk into the gullies,
revisited the aboriginal National Gallery of paintings and hieroglyphics, and then returned to our shade and our ants.
Again we pored over the little German map, and again envied more prosperous explorers. The thermometer had stood at
101° in the shade, and the greatest pleasure we experienced that day was to see the orb of day descend. The atmosphere
had been surcharged all day with smoke, and haze hung over all the land, for the Autochthones were ever busy at their
hunting fires, especially upon the opposite side of the great lake; but at night the blaze of nearer ones kept up a
perpetual light, and though the fires may have been miles away they appeared to be quite close. I also had fallen into
the custom of the country, and had set fire to several extensive beds of triodia, which had burned with unabated fury;
so brilliant, indeed, was the illumination that I could see to read by the light. I kindled these fires in hopes some
of the natives might come and interview us, but no doubt in such a poorly watered region the native population cannot
be great, and the few who do inhabit it had evidently abandoned this particular portion of it until rains should fall
and enable them to hunt while water remained in it.

Last night, the 23rd October, was sultry, and blankets utterly useless. The flies and ants were wide awake, and the
only thing we could congratulate ourselves upon, was the absence of mosquitoes. At dawn the thermometer stood at 70°
and a warm breeze blew gently from the north. The horses were found early, but as it took nearly three hours to water
them we did not leave the glen till past eight o'clock. This time I intended to return to the ridges we had last left,
and which now bore a little to the west of south-west, twenty-one miles away. We made a detour so as to inspect some
other ridges near where we had been last. Stony and low ridgy ground was first met, but the scrubs were all around. At
fifteen miles we came upon a little firm clayey plain with some salt bushes, and it also had upon it some clay pans,
but they had long been dry. We found the northern face of the ridges just as waterless as the southern, which we had
previously searched. The far hills or ridges to the west, which I now intended to visit, bore nearly west. Another salt
bush plain was next crossed; this was nearly three miles long. We now gave the horses an hour's spell, the thermometer
showing 102° in the shade; then, re-saddling, we went on, and it was nine o'clock at night when we found ourselves
under the shadows of the hills we had steered for, having them on the north of us.

I searched in the dark, but could find no feature likely to supply us with water; we had to encamp in a nest of
triodia without any water, having travelled forty-eight miles through the usual kind of country that occupies this
region's space. At daylight the thermometer registered 70°, that being the lowest during the night. On ascending the
hill above us, there was but one feature to gaze upon — the lake still stretching away, not only in undiminished, but
evidently increasing size, towards the west and north-west. Several lateral channels were thrown out from the parent
bed at various distances, some broad and some narrow. A line of ridges, with one hill much more prominent than any I
had seen about this country, appeared close down upon the shores of the lake; it bore from the hill I stood upon south
68° west, and was about twenty miles off. A long broad salt arm, however, ran up at the back of it between it and me,
but just opposite there appeared a narrow place that I thought we might cross to reach it.

The ridge I was on was red granite, but there was neither creek nor rock-hole about it. We now departed for the high
hill westward, crossing a very boggy salt channel with great difficulty, at five miles; in five more we came to the
arm. It appeared firm, but unfortunately one of the horses got frightfully bogged, and it was only by the most frantic
exertions that we at length got him out. The bottom of this dreadful feature, if it has a bottom, seems composed
entirely of hot, blue, briny mud. Our exertions in extricating the horse made us extremely thirsty; the hill looked
more inviting the nearer we got to it, so, still hoping to reach it, I followed up the arm for about seven miles in a
north west direction. It proved, however, quite impassable, and it seemed utterly useless to attempt to reach the
range, as we could not tell how far we might have to travel before we could get round the arm. I believe it continues
in a semicircle and joins the lake again, thus isolating the hill I wished to visit. This now seemed an island it was
impossible to reach. We were sixty-five miles away from the only water we knew of, with no likelihood of any nearer;
there might certainly be water at the mount I wished to reach, but it was unapproachable, and I called it by that name;
no doubt, had I been able to reach it, my progress would still have been impeded to the west by the huge lake itself. I
could get no water except brine upon its shores, and I had no appliances to distil that; could I have done so, I would
have followed this feature, hideous as it is, as no doubt sooner or later some watercourses must fall into it either
from the south or the west. We were, however, a hundred miles from the camp, with only one man left there, and
sixty-five from the nearest water. I had no choice but to retreat, baffled, like Eyre with his Lake Torrens in 1840, at
all points. On the southern shore of the lake, and apparently a very long way off, a range of hills bore south 30°
west; this range had a pinkish appearance and seemed of some length. Mr. Carmichael wished me to call it McNicol's
Range, after a friend of his, and this I did. We turned our wretched horses' heads once more in the direction of our
little tank, and had good reason perhaps to thank our stars that we got away alive from the lone unhallowed shore of
this pernicious sea. We kept on twenty-eight miles before we camped, and looked at two or three places, on the way
ineffectually, for some signs of water, having gone forty-seven miles; thermometer in shade 103°, the heat increasing
one degree a day for several days. When we camped we were hungry, thirsty, tired, covered all over with dry salt mud;
so that it is not to be wondered at if our spirits were not at a very high point, especially as we were making a forced
retreat. The night was hot, cloudy, and sultry, and rain clouds gathered in the sky. At about 1 a.m. the distant
rumblings of thunder were heard to the west-north-west, and I was in hopes some rain might fall, as it was apparently
approaching; the thunder was not loud, but the lightning was most extraordinarily vivid; only a few drops of rain fell,
and the rest of the night was even closer and more sultry than before.

Ere the stars had left the sky we were in our saddles again; the horses looked most pitiable objects, their flanks
drawn in, the natural vent was distended to an open and extraordinary cavity; their eyes hollow and sunken, which is
always the case with horses when greatly in want of water. Two days of such stages will thoroughly test the finest
horse that ever stepped. We had thirty-six miles yet to travel to reach the water. The horses being so jaded, it was
late in the afternoon when they at last crawled into the little glen; the last few miles being over stones made the
pace more slow. Not even their knowledge of the near presence of water availed to inspirit them in the least; probably
they knew they would have to wait for hours at the tank, when they arrived, before their cravings for water could be
appeased. The thermometer to-day was 104° in the shade. When we arrived the horses had walked 131 miles without a
drink, and it was no wonder that the poor creatures were exhausted. When one horse had drank what little water there
was, we had to re-dig the tank, for the wind or some other cause had knocked a vast amount of the sand into it again.
Some natives also had visited the place while we were away, their fresh tracks were visible in the sand around, and on
the top of the tank. They must have stared to see such a piece of excavation in their territory. When the horses did
get water, two of them rolled, and groaned, and kicked, so that I thought they were going to die; one was a mare, she
seemed the worst, another was a strong young horse which had carried me well, the third was my old favourite
riding-horse; this time he had only carried the pack, and was badly bogged; he was the only one that did not appear
distressed when filled with water, the other two lay about in evident pain until morning. About the middle of the night
thunder was again heard, and flash after flash of even more vivid lightnings than that of the previous night
enlightened the glen; so bright were the flashes, being alternately fork and sheet lightning, that for nearly an hour
the glare never ceased. The thunder was much louder than last night's, and a slight mizzling rain for about an hour
fell. The barometer had fallen considerably for the last two days, so I anticipated a change. The rain was too slight
to be of any use; the temperature of the atmosphere, however, was quite changed, for by the morning the thermometer was
down to 48°.

The horses were not fit to travel, so we had to remain, with nothing to do, but consult the little map again, and
lay off my position on it. My farthest point I found to be in latitude 24° 38´ and longitude 130°. For the second time
I had reached nearly the same meridian. I had been repulsed at both points, which were about a hundred miles apart, in
the first instance by dry stony ranges in the midst of dense scrubs, and in the second by a huge salt lake equally
destitute of fresh water. It appears to me plain enough that a much more northerly or else more southerly course must
be pursued to reach the western coast, at all events in such a country, it will be only by time and perseverance that
any explorer can penetrate it. I think I remarked before that we entered this little glen through a pass about
half-a-mile long, between two hills of red sandstone. I named this Worrill's Pass, after another friend of Mr.
Carmichael. The little glen in which we dug out the tank I could only call Glen Thirsty, for we never returned to it
but ourselves and our horses, were choking for water. Our supply of rations, although we had eked it out with the
greatest possible economy, was consumed, for we brought only a week's supply, and we had now been absent ten days from
home, and we should have to fast all to-morrow, until we reached the depot; but as the horses were unable to carry us,
we were forced to remain.

During the day I had a long conversation with Mr. Carmichael upon our affairs in general, and our stock of
provisions in particular; the conclusion we arrived at was, that having been nearly three months out, we had not
progressed so far in the time as we had expected. We had found the country so dry that until rains fell, it seemed
scarcely probable that we should be able to penetrate farther to the west, and if we had to remain in depot for a month
or two, it was necessary by some means to economise our stores, and the only way to do so was to dispense with the
services of Alec Robinson. It would be necessary, of course, in the first place, to find a creek to the eastward, which
would take him to the Finke, and by the means of the same watercourse we might eventually get round to the southern
shores of Lake Amadeus, and reach Mount Olga at last.

In our journey up the Finke two or three creeks had joined from the west, and as we were now beyond the sources of
any of these, it would be necessary to discover some road to one or the other before Robinson could be parted with. By
dispensing with his services, as he was willing to go, we should have sufficient provisions left to enable us to hold
out for some months longer: even if we had to wait so long as the usual rainy season in this part of the country, which
is about January and February, we should still have several months' provisions to start again with. In all these
considerations Mr. Carmichael fully agreed, and it was decided that I should inform Alec of our resolution so soon as
we returned to the camp. After the usual nearly three hours' work to water our horses, we turned our backs for the last
time upon Glen Thirsty, where we had so often returned with exhausted and choking horses.

I must admit that I was getting anxious about Robinson and the state of things at the camp. In going through
Worrill's Pass, we noticed that scarcely a tree had escaped from being struck by the lightning; branches and boughs lay
scattered about, and several pines from the summits of the ridges had been blasted from their eminence. I was not very
much surprised, for I expected to be lightning-struck myself, as I scarcely ever saw such lightning before. We got back
to Robinson and the camp at 5 p.m. My old horse that carried the pack had gone quite lame, and this caused us to travel
very slowly. Robinson was alive and quite well, and the little dog was overjoyed to greet us. Robinson reported that
natives had been frequently in the neighbourhood, and had lit fires close to the camp, but would not show themselves.
Marzetti's mare had foaled, the progeny being a daughter; the horse that was staked was worse, and I found my old horse
had also ran a mulga stake into his coronet. I probed the wounds of both, but could not get any wood out. Carmichael
and I both thought we would like a day's rest; and if I did not do much work, at least I thought a good deal.

The lame horses are worse: the poisonous mulga must be in the wounds, but I can't get it out. What a pleasure it is,
not only to have plenty of water to drink, but actually to have sufficient for a bath! I told Robinson of my views
regarding him, but said he must yet remain until some eastern waters could be found. On the 30th October, Mr.
Carmichael and I, with three fresh horses, started again. In my travels southerly I had noticed a conspicuous range of
some elevation quite distinct from the ridges at which our camp was fixed, and lying nearly east, where an almost
overhanging crag formed its north-western face. This range I now decided to visit. To get out of the ridges in which
our creek exists, we had to follow the trend of a valley formed by what are sometimes called reaphook hills; these ran
about east-south-east. In a few miles we crossed an insignificant little creek with a few gum-trees; it had a small
pool of water in its bed: the valley was well grassed and open, and the triodia was also absent. A small pass ushered
us into a new valley, in which were several peculiar conical hills. Passing over a saddle-like pass, between two of
them, we came to a flat, open valley running all the way to the foot of the new range, with a creek channel between.
The range appeared very red and rocky, being composed of enormous masses of red sandstone; the upper portion of it was
bare, with the exception of a few cypress pines, moored in the rifled rock, and, I suppose, proof to the tempest's
shock. A fine-looking creek, lined with gum-trees, issued from a gorge. We followed up the channel, and Mr. Carmichael
found a fine little sheet of water in a stony hole, about 400 yards long and forty yards wide. This had about four feet
of water in it; the grass was green, and all round the foot of the range the country was open, beautifully grassed,
green, and delightful to look at. Having found so eligible a spot, we encamped: how different from our former line of
march! We strolled up through the rocky gorge, and found several rock reservoirs with plenty of water; some palm-like
Zamias were seen along the rocks. Down the channel, about south-west, the creek passed through a kind of low gorge
about three miles away. Smoke was seen there, and no doubt it was an encampment of the natives. Since the heavy though
dry thunderstorm at Glen Thirsty, the temperature has been much cooler. I called this King's Creek. Another on the
western flat beyond joins it. I called the north-west point of this range Carmichael's Crag. The range trended a little
south of east, and we decided to follow along its southern face, which was open, grassy, and beautifully green; it was
by far the most agreeable and pleasant country we had met.

Penny's Creek.

At about five miles we crossed another creek coming immediately out of the range, where it issued from under a high
and precipitous wall of rock, underneath which was a splendid deep and pellucid basin of the purest water, which came
rushing into and out of it through fissures in the mountain: it then formed a small swamp thickly set with reeds, which
covered an area of several acres, having plenty of water among them. I called this Penny's Creek. Half a mile beyond it
was a similar one and reed bed, but no such splendid rock reservoir. Farther along the range other channels issued too,
with fine rock water-holes. At eighteen miles we reached a much larger one than we had yet seen: I hoped this might
reach the Finke. We followed it into the range, where it came down through a glen: here we found three fine rock-holes
with good supplies of water in them. The glen and rock is all red sandstone: the place reminded me somewhat of Captain
Sturt's Depot Glen in the Grey ranges of his Central Australian Expedition, only the rock formation is different,
though a cliff overhangs both places, and there are other points of resemblance. I named this Stokes's Creek.

We rested here an hour and had a swim in one of the rocky basins. How different to regions westward, where we could
not get enough water to drink, let alone to swim in! The water ran down through the glen as far as the rock-holes,
where it sank into the ground. Thermometer 102° to-day. We continued along the range, having a fine stretch of open
grassy country to travel upon, and in five miles reached another creek, whose reed beds and water filled the whole
glen. This I named Bagot's Creek. For some miles no other creek issued, till, approaching the eastern end of the range,
we had a piece of broken stony ground and some mulga for a few miles, when we came to a sudden fall into a lower
valley, which was again open, grassy, and green. We could then see that the range ended, but sent out one more creek,
which meandered down the valley towards some other hills beyond; this valley was of a clayey soil, and the creek had
some clay holes with water in them. Following it three miles farther, we found that it emptied itself into a much
larger stony mountain stream; I named this Trickett's Creek, after a friend of Mr. Carmichael's. The range which had
thrown out so many creeks, and contained so much water, and which is over forty miles in length, I named George Gill's
Range, after my brother-in-law. The country round its foot is by far the best I have seen in this region; and could it
be transported to any civilised land, its springs, glens, gorges, ferns, Zamias, and flowers, would charm the eyes and
hearts of toil-worn men who are condemned to live and die in crowded towns.

The new creek now just discovered had a large stony water-hole immediately above and below the junction of
Trickett's Creek, and as we approached the lower one, I noticed several native wurleys just deserted; their owners
having seen us while we only thought of them, had fled at our approach, and left all their valuables behind. These
consisted of clubs, spears, shields, drinking vessels, yam sticks, with other and all the usual appliances of
well-furnished aboriginal gentlemen's establishments. Three young native dog-puppies came out, however, to welcome us,
but when we dismounted and they smelt us, not being used to such refined odours as our garments probably exhaled, they
fled howling. The natives had left some food cooking, and when I cooeyed they answered, but would not come near. This
creek was of some size; it seemed to pass through a valley in a new range further eastwards. It came from the
north-west, apparently draining the northern side of Gill's Range. I called it Petermann's Creek. We were now
sixty-five miles from our depot, and had been most successful in our efforts to find a route to allow of the departure
of Robinson, as it appeared that this creek would surely reach the Finke, though we afterwards found it did not. I
intended upon returning here to endeavour to discover a line of country round the south-eastern extremity of Lake
Amadeus, so as to reach Mount Olga at last. We now turned our horses' heads again for our home camp, and continued
travelling until we reached Stokes's Creek, where we encamped after a good long day's march.

This morning, as we were approaching Penny's Creek, we saw two natives looking most intently at our outgoing horse
tracks, along which they were slowly walking, with their backs towards us. They neither saw nor heard us until we were
close upon their heels. Each carried two enormously long spears, two-thirds mulga wood and one-third reed at the
throwing end, of course having the instrument with which they project these spears, called by some tribes of natives
only, but indiscriminately all over the country by whites, a wommerah. It is in the form of a flat ellipse, elongated
to a sort of tail at the holding end, and short-pointed at the projecting end; a kangaroo's claw or wild dog's tooth is
firmly fixed by gum and gut-strings. The projectile force of this implement is enormous, and these spears can be thrown
with the greatest precision for more than a hundred yards. They also had narrow shields, three to four feet long, to
protect themselves from hostile spears, with a handle cut out in the centre. These two natives had their hair tied up
in a kind of chignon at the back of the head, the hair being dragged back off the forehead from infancy. This mode gave
them a wild though somewhat effeminate appearance; others, again, wear their hair in long thick curls reaching down the
shoulders, beautifully elaborated with iguanas' or emus' fat and red ochre. This applies only to the men; the women's
hair is worn either cut with flints or bitten off short. So soon as the two natives heard, and then looking round saw
us, they scampered off like emus, running along as close to the ground as it is possible for any two-legged creature to
do. One was quite a young fellow, the other full grown. They ran up the side of the hills, and kept travelling along
parallel to us; but though we stopped and called, and signalled with boughs, they would not come close, and the oftener
I tried to come near them on foot, the faster they ran. They continued alongside us until King's Creek was reached,
where we rested the horses for an hour. We soon became aware that a number of natives were in our vicinity, our
original two yelling and shouting to inform the others of our advent, and presently we saw a whole nation of them
coming from the glen or gorge to the south-west, where I had noticed camp-fires on my first arrival here. The new
people were also shouting and yelling in the most furious and demoniacal manner; and our former two, as though deputed
by the others, now approached us much nearer than before, and came within twenty yards of us, but holding their spears
fixed in their wommerahs, in such a position that they could use them instantly if they desired. The slightest incident
might have induced them to spear us, but we appeared to be at our ease, and endeavoured to parley with them. The men
were not handsome or fat, but were very well made, and, as is the case with most of the natives of these parts, were
rather tall, namely five feet eight and nine inches. When they had come close enough, the elder began to harangue us,
and evidently desired us to know that we were trespassers, and were to be off forthwith, as he waved us away in the
direction we had come from. The whole host then took up the signal, howled, yelled, and waved their hands and weapons
at us. Fortunately, however, they did not actually attack us; we were not very well prepared for attack, as we had only
a revolver each, our guns and rifles being left with Robinson. As our horses were frightened and would not feed, we
hurried our departure, when we were saluted with rounds of cheers and blessings, i.e. yells and curses in their
charming dialect, until we were fairly out of sight and hearing. On reaching the camp, Alec reported that no natives
had been seen during our absence. On inspecting the two lame horses, it appeared they were worse than ever.

We had a very sudden dry thunderstorm, which cooled the air. Next day I sent Alec and Carmichael over to the first
little five-mile creek eastwards with the two lame horses, so that we can pick them up en route to-morrow. They
reported that the horses could scarcely travel at all; I thought if I could get them to Penny's Creek I would leave
them there. This little depot camp was at length broken up, after it had existed here from 15th October to 5th
November. I never expected, after being nearly three months out, that I should be pushing to the eastwards, when every
hope and wish I had was to go in exactly the opposite direction, and I could only console myself with the thought that
I was going to the east to get to the west at last. I have great hopes that if I can once set my foot upon Mount Olga,
my route to the west may be unimpeded. I had not seen all the horses together for some time, and when they were
mustered this morning, I found they had all greatly improved in condition, and almost the fattest among them was the
little mare that had foaled at Mount Udor. Marzetti's mare looked very well also.

It was past midday when we turned our backs upon Tempe's Vale. At the five-mile creek we got the two lame horses,
and reached King's Creek somewhat late in the afternoon. As we neared it, we saw several natives' smokes, and
immediately the whole region seemed alive with aborigines, men, women, and children running down from the highest
points of the mountain to join the tribe below, where they all congregated. The yelling, howling, shrieking, and
gesticulating they kept up was, to say the least, annoying. When we began to unpack the horses, they crowded closer
round us, carrying their knotted sticks, long spears, and other fighting implements. I did not notice any boomerangs
among them, and I did not request them to send for any. They were growing very troublesome, and evidently meant
mischief. I rode towards a mob of them and cracked my whip, which had no effect in dispersing them. They made a sudden
pause, and then gave a sudden shout or howl. It seemed as if they knew, or had heard something, of white men's ways,
for when I unstrapped my rifle, and holding it up, warning them away, to my great astonishment they departed; they
probably wanted to find out if we possessed such things, and I trust they were satisfied, for they gave us up
apparently as a bad lot.

It appeared the exertion of travelling had improved the go of the lame horses, so I took them along with the others
in the morning; I did not like the idea of leaving them anywhere on this range, as the natives would certainly spear,
and probably eat them. We got them along to Stokes's Creek, and encamped at the swimming rock-hole.

After our frugal supper a circumstance occurred which completely put an end to my expedition. Mr. Carmichael
informed me that he had made up his mind not to continue in the field any longer, for as Alec Robinson was going away,
he should do so too. Of course I could not control him; he was a volunteer, and had contributed towards the expenses of
the expedition. We had never fallen out, and I thought he was as ardent in the cause of exploration as I was, so that
when he informed me of his resolve it came upon me as a complete surprise. My arguments were all in vain; in vain I
showed how, with the stock of provisions we had, we might keep the field for months. I even offered to retreat to the
Finke, so that we should not have such arduous work for want of water, but it was all useless.

It was with distress that I lay down on my blankets that night, after what he had said. I scarcely knew what to do.
I had yet a lot of horses heavily loaded with provisions; but to take them out into a waterless, desert country by
myself, was impossible. We only went a short distance — to Bagot's Creek, where I renewed my arguments. Mr.
Carmichael's reply was, that he had made up his mind and nothing should alter it; the consequence was that with one
companion I had, so to speak, discharged, and another who discharged himself, any further exploration was out of the
question. I had no other object now in view but to hasten my return to civilisation, in hopes of reorganising my
expedition. We were now in full retreat for the telegraph line; but as I still traversed a region previously
unexplored, I may as well continue my narrative to the close. Marzetti's foal couldn't travel, and had to be killed at
Bagot's Creek.

On Friday, the 8th November, the party, now silent, still moved under my directions. We travelled over the same
ground that Mr. Carmichael and I had formerly done, until we reached the Petermann in the Levi Range. The natives and
their pups had departed. The hills approached this creek so close as to form a valley; there were several water-holes
in the creek; we followed its course as far as the valley existed. When the country opened, the creek spread out, and
the water ceased to appear in its bed. We kept moving all day; towards evening I saw some gum-trees under some hills
two or three miles southwards, and as some smoke appeared above the hills, I knew that natives must have been there
lately, and that water might be got there. Accordingly, leaving Carmichael and Robinson to go on with the horses, I
rode over, and found there was the channel of a small creek, which narrowed into a kind of glen the farther I
penetrated. The grass was burning on all the hillsides, and as I went still farther up, I could hear the voices of the
natives, and I felt pretty sure of finding water. I was, however, slightly anxious as to what reception I should get. I
soon saw a single native leisurely walking along in front of me with an iguana in his hand, taking it home for supper.
He carried several spears, a wommerah, and a shield, and had long curled locks hanging down his shoulders. My horse's
nose nearly touched his back before he was aware of my presence, when, looking behind him, he gave a sudden start, held
up his two hands, dropped his iguana and his spears, uttered a tremendous yell as a warning to his tribe, and bounded
up the rocks in front of us like a wallaby. I then passed under a eucalyptus-tree, in whose foliage two ancient
warriors had hastily secreted themselves. I stopped a second and looked up at them, they also looked at me; they
presented a most ludicrous appearance. A little farther on there were several rows of wurleys, and I could perceive the
men urging the women and children away, as they doubtless supposed many more white men were in company with me, never
supposing I could possibly be alone. While the women and children were departing up the rocks, the men snatched up
spears and other weapons, and followed the women slowly towards the rocks. The glen had here narrowed to a gorge, the
rocks on either side being not more than eighty to a hundred feet high. It is no exaggeration to say that the summits
of the rocks on either side of the glen were lined with natives; they could almost touch me with their spears. I did
not feel quite at home in this charming retreat, although I was the cynosure of a myriad eyes. The natives stood upon
the edge of the rocks like statues, some pointing their spears menacingly towards me, and I certainly expected that
some dozens would be thrown at me. Both parties seemed paralysed by the appearance of the other. I scarcely knew what
to do; I knew if I turned to retreat that every spear would be launched at me. I was, metaphorically, transfixed to the
spot. I thought the only thing to do was to brave the situation out, as

“Cowards, 'tis said, in certain situations

Derive a sort of courage from despair;

And then perform, from downright desperation,

Much bolder deeds than many a braver man would dare.”

Escape Glen — the Advance.

Escape Glen — the Retreat.

Middleton's Pass and Fish Ponds.

I was choking with thirst, though in vain I looked for a sheet of water; but seeing where they had dug out some
sand, I advanced to one or two wells in which I could see water, but without a shovel only a native could get any out
of such a funnel-shaped hole. In sheer desperation I dismounted and picked up a small wooden utensil from one of the
wurleys, thinking if I could only get a drink I should summon up pluck for the last desperate plunge. I could only
manage to get up a few mouthfuls of dirty water, and my horse was trying to get in on top of me. So far as I could see,
there were only two or three of these places where all those natives got water. I remounted my horse, one of the best
and fastest I have. He knew exactly what I wanted because he wished it also, and that was to be gone. I mounted slowly
with my face to the enemy, but the instant I was on he sprang round and was away with a bound that almost left me
behind; then such demoniacal yells greeted my ears as I had never heard before and do not wish to hear again; the
echoes of the voices of these now indignant and infuriated creatures reverberating through the defiles of the hills,
and the uncouth sounds of the voices themselves smote so discordantly on my own and my horse's ears that we went out of
that glen faster, oh! ever so much faster, than we went in. I heard a horrid sound of spears, sticks, and other
weapons, striking violently upon the ground behind me, but I did not stop to pick up any of them, or even to look round
to see what caused it. Upon rejoining my companions, as we now seldom spoke to one another, I merely told them I had
seen water and natives, but that it was hardly worth while to go back to the place, but that they could go if they
liked. Robinson asked me why I had ridden my horse West Australian — shortened to W.A., but usually called Guts, from
his persistent attention to his “inwards”— so hard when there seemed no likelihood's of our getting any water for the
night? I said, “Ride him back and see.” I called this place Escape Glen. In two or three miles after I overtook them,
the Petermann became exhausted on the plains. We pushed on nearly east, as now we must strike the Finke in forty-five
to fifty miles; but we had to camp that night without water. The lame horses went better the farther they were driven.
I hoped to travel the lameness out of them, as instances of that kind have occurred with me more than once. We were
away from our dry camp early, and had scarcely proceeded two miles when we struck the bank of a broad sandy-bedded
creek, which was almost as broad as the Finke itself: just where we struck it was on top of a red bank twenty or thirty
feet high. The horses naturally looking down into the bed below, one steady old file of a horse, that carried my boxes
with the instruments, papers, quicksilver, etc., went too close, the bank crumbled under him, and down he fell, raising
a cloud of red dust. I rode up immediately, expecting to see a fine smash, but no, there he was, walking along on the
sandy bed below, as comfortable as he had been on top, not a strap strained or a box shifted in the least. The bed here
was dry. Robinson rode on ahead and shortly found two fine large ponds under a hill which ended abruptly over them. On
our side a few low ridges ran to meet it, thus forming a kind of pass. Here we outspanned; it was a splendid place.
Carmichael and Robinson caught a great quantity of fish with hook and line. I called these Middleton's Pass and Fish
Ponds. The country all round was open, grassy, and fit for stock. The next day we got plenty more fish; they were a
species of perch, the largest one caught weighed, I dare say, three pounds; they had a great resemblance to Murray cod,
which is a species of perch. I saw from the hill overhanging the water that the creek trended south-east. Going in that
direction we did not, however, meet it; so turning more easterly, we sighted some pointed hills, and found the creek
went between them, forming another pass, where there was another water-hole under the rocks. This, no doubt, had been
of large dimensions, but was now gradually getting filled with sand; there was, however, a considerable quantity of
water, and it was literally alive with fish, insomuch that the water had a disagreeable and fishy taste. Great numbers
of the dead fish were floating upon the water. Here we met a considerable number of natives, and although the women
would not come close, several of the men did, and made themselves useful by holding some of the horses' bridles and
getting firewood. Most of them had names given them by their godfathers at their baptism, that is to say, either by the
officers or men of the Overland Telegraph Construction parties. This was my thirty-second camp; I called it Rogers's
Pass; twenty-two miles was our day's stage. From here two conspicuous semi-conical hills, or as I should say, truncated
cones, of almost identical appearance, caught my attention; they bore nearly south 60° east.

Junction of the Palmer and Finke.

Bidding adieu to our sable friends, who had had breakfast with us and again made themselves useful, we started for
the twins. To the south of them was a range of some length; of this the twins formed a part. I called it Seymour's
Range, and a conic hill at its western end Mount Ormerod. We passed the twins in eleven miles, and found some water in
the creek near a peculiar red sandstone hill, Mount Quin; the general course of the creek was south 70° east. Seymour's
Range, together with Mounts Quin and Ormerod, had a series of watermarks in horizontal lines along their face, similar
to Johnston's Range, seen when first starting, the two ranges lying east and west of one another; the latter-named
range we were again rapidly approaching. Not far from Mount Quin I found some clay water-holes in a lateral channel.
The creek now ran nearly east, and having taken my latitude this morning by Aldeberan, I was sure of what I
anticipated, namely, that I was running down the creek I had called Number 2. It was one that joined the Finke at my
outgoing Number 2 camp. We found a water-hole to-day, fenced in by the natives. There was a low range to the
south-west, and a tent-shaped hill more easterly. We rested the horses at the fenced-in water-hole. I walked to the top
of the tent hill, and saw the creek went through another pass to the north-east. In the afternoon I rode over to this
pass and found some ponds of water on this side of it. A bullock whose tracks I had seen further up the creek had got
bogged here. We next travelled through the pass, which I called Briscoe's Pass, the creek now turning up nearly
north-east; in six miles further it ran under a hill, which I well remembered in going out; at thirteen miles from the
camp it ended in the broader bosom of the Finke, where there was a fine water-hole at the junction, in the bed of the
smaller creek, which was called the Palmer. The Finke now appeared very different to when we passed up. It then had a
stream of water running along its channel, but was now almost dry, except that water appeared at intervals upon the
surface of the white and sandy bed, which, however, was generally either salty or bitter; others, again, were drinkable
enough. Upon reaching the river we camped.

My expedition was over. I had failed certainly in my object, which was to penetrate to the sources of the Murchison
River, but not through any fault of mine, as I think any impartial reader will admit. Our outgoing tracks were very
indistinct, but yet recognisable; we camped again at Number 1. Our next line was nearly east, along the course of the
Finke, passing a few miles south of Chambers's Pillar. I had left it but twelve weeks and four days; during that
interval I had traversed and laid down over a thousand miles of previously totally unknown country. Had I been
fortunate enough to have fallen upon a good or even a fair line of country, the distance I actually travelled would
have taken me across the continent.

I may here make a few remarks upon the Finke. It is usually called a river, although its water does not always show
upon the surface. Overlanders, i.e. parties travelling up or down the road along the South Australian Trans-Continental
Telegraph line, where the water does show on the surface, call them springs. The water is always running underneath the
sand, but in certain places it becomes impregnated with mineral and salty formations, which gives the water a
disagreeable taste. This peculiar drain no doubt rises in the western portions of the McDonnell Range, not far from
where I traced it to, and runs for over 500 miles straight in a general south-westerly direction, finally entering the
northern end of Lake Eyre. It drains an enormous area of Central South Australia, and on the parallels of 24, 25, 26°
of south latitude, no other stream exists between it and the Murchison or the Ashburton, a distance in either case of
nearly 1,100 miles, and thus it will be seen it is the only Central Australian river.

On the 21st of November we reached the telegraph line at the junction of the Finke and the Hugh. The weather during
this month, and almost to its close, was much cooler than the preceding one. The horses were divided between us —
Robinson getting six, Carmichael four, and I five. Carmichael and Robinson went down the country, in company, in
advance of me, as fast as they could. I travelled more slowly by myself. One night, when near what is called the
Horse-shoe bend of the Finke, I had turned out my horses, and as it seemed inclined to rain, was erecting a small tent,
and on looking round for the tomahawk to drive a stake into the ground, was surprised to notice a very handsome little
black boy, about nine or ten years old, quite close to me. I patted him on the head, whereupon he smiled very sweetly,
and began to talk most fluently in his own language. I found he interspersed his remarks frequently with the words
Larapinta, white fellow, and yarraman (horses). He told me two white men, Carmichael and Robinson, and ten horses, had
gone down, and that white fellows, with horses and camel drays (Gosse's expedition), had just gone up the line. While
we were talking, two smaller boys came up and were patted, and patted me in return.

The water on the surface here was bitter, and I had not been able to find any good, but these little imps of
iniquity took my tin billy, scratched a hole in the sand, and immediately procured delicious water; so I got them to
help to water the horses. I asked the elder boy, whom I christened Tommy, if he would come along with me and the
yarramans; of these they seemed very fond, as they began kissing while helping to water them. Tommy then found a word
or two of English, and said, “You master?” The natives always like to know who they are dealing with, whether a person
is a master or a servant. I replied, “Yes, mine master.” He then said, “Mine (him) ridem yarraman.” “Oh, yes.” “Which
one?” “That one,” said I, pointing to old Cocky, and said, “That's Cocky.” Then the boy went up to the horse, and said,
“Cocky, you ridem me?” Turning to me, he said, “All right, master, you and me Burr-r-r-r-r.” I was very well pleased to
think I should get such a nice little fellow so easily. It was now near evening, and knowing that these youngsters
couldn't possibly be very far from their fathers or mothers, I asked, “Where black fellow?” Tommy said, quite
nonchalantly, “Black fellow come up!” and presently I heard voices, and saw a whole host of men, women, and children.
Then these three boys set up a long squeaky harangue to the others, and three or four men and five or six boys came
running up to me. One was a middle-aged, good-looking man; with him were two boys, and Tommy gave me to understand that
these were his father and brothers. The father drew Tommy towards him, and ranged his three boys in a row, and when I
looked at them, it was impossible to doubt their relationship — they were all three so wonderfully alike. Dozens more
men, boys, and women came round — some of the girls being exceedingly pretty. To feed so large a host, would have
required all my horses as well as my stock of rations, so I singled out Tommy, his two brothers, and the other original
little two, at the same time, giving Tommy's father about half a damper I had already cooked, and told him that Tommy
was my boy. He shook his head slowly, and would not accept the damper, walking somewhat sorrowfully away. However, I
sent it to him by Tommy, and told him to tell his father he was going with me and the horses. The damper was taken that
time. It did not rain, and the five youngsters all slept near me, while the tribe encamped a hundred yards away. I was
not quite sure whether to expect an attack from such a number of natives. I did not feel quite at ease; though these
were, so to say, civilised people, they were known to be great thieves; and I never went out of sight of my belongings,
as in many cases the more civilised they are, the more villainous they may be. In the morning Tommy's father seemed to
have thought better of my proposal, thinking probably it was a good thing for one of his boys to have a white master. I
may say nearly all the civilised youngsters, and a good many old ones too, like to get work, regular rations, and
tobacco, from the cattle or telegraph stations, which of course do employ a good many. When one of these is tired of
his work, he has to bring up a substitute and inform his employer, and thus a continual change goes on. The boys
brought up the horses, and breakfast being eaten, the father led Tommy up to me and put his little hand in mine; at the
same time giving me a small piece of stick, and pretending to thrash him; represented to me that, if he didn't behave
himself, I was to thrash him. I gave the old fellow some old clothes (Tommy I had already dressed up), also some flour,
tea, and sugar, and lifted the child on to old Cocky's saddle, which had a valise in front, with two straps for the
monkey to cling on by. A dozen or two youngsters now also wanted to come on foot. I pretended to be very angry, and
Tommy must have said something that induced them to remain. I led the horse the boy was riding, and had to drive the
other three in front of me. When we departed, the natives gave us some howls or cheers, and finally we got out of their
reach. The boy seemed quite delighted with his new situation, and talked away at a great rate. As soon as we reached
the road, by some extraordinary chance, all my stock of wax matches, carried by Badger, caught alight; a perfect
volcano ensued, and the novel sight of a pack-horse on fire occurred. This sent him mad, and away he and the two other
pack-horses flew down the road, over the sandhills, and were out of sight in no time. I told the boy to cling on as I
started to gallop after them. He did so for a bit, but slipping on one side, Cocky gave a buck, and sent Tommy flying
into some stumps of timber cut down for the passage of the telegraph line, and the boy fell on a stump and broke his
arm near the shoulder. I tied my horse up and went to help the child, who screamed and bit at me, and said something
about his people killing me. Every time I tried to touch or pacify him it was the same. I did not know what to do, the
horses were miles away. I decided to leave the boy where he was, go after the horses, and then return with them to my
last night's camp, and give the boy back to his father. When he saw me mount, he howled and yelled, but I gave him to
understand what I was going to do and he lay down and cried. I was full of pity for the poor little creature, and I
only left him to return. I started away, and not until I had been at full gallop for an hour did I sight the runaway
horses. Cocky got away when the accident occurred, and galloped after and found the others, and his advent evidently
set them off a second time. Returning to the boy, I saw some smoke, and on approaching close, found a young black
fellow also there. He had bound up the child's arm with leaves, and wrapped it up with bits of bark; and when I came he
damped it with water from my bag. I then suggested to these two to return; but oh no, the new chap was evidently bound
to seek his fortune in London — that is to say, at the Charlotte Waters Station — and he merely remarked, “You, mine,
boy, Burr-r-r-r-r, white fellow wurley;” he also said, “Mine, boy, walk, you, yarraman — mine, boy, sleep you wurley,
you Burr-r-r-r-r yarraman.” All this meant that they would walk and I might ride, and that they would camp with me at
night. Off I went and left them, as I had a good way to go. I rode and they walked to the Charlotte. I got the little
boy regular meals at the station; but his arm was still bad, and I don't know if it ever got right. I never saw him
again.

At the Charlotte Waters I met Colonel Warburton and his son; they were going into the regions I had just returned
from. I gave them all the information they asked, and showed them my map; but they and Gosse's expedition went further
up the line to the Alice springs, in the McDonnell Ranges, for a starting-point. I was very kindly received here again,
and remained a few days. My old horse Cocky had got bad again, in consequence of his galloping with the packhorses, and
I left him behind me at the Charlotte, in charge of Mr. Johnston. On arrival at the Peake, I found that Mr. Bagot had
broken his collar-bone by a fall from a horse. I drove him to the Blinman Mine, where we took the coach for Adelaide.
At Beltana, before we reached the Blinman Mine, I heard that my former black boy Dick was in that neighbourhood, and
Mr. Chandler, whom I had met at the Charlotte Waters, and who was now stationed here, promised to get and keep him for
me until I either came or sent for him: this he did. And thus ends the first book of my explorations.

Book 2.

Map 2
Second Expedition, 1873-4.

Note to the Second Expedition.

In a former part of my narrative I mentioned, that so soon as I had informed my kind friend Baron von Mueller by
wire from the Charlotte Waters Telegraph Station, of the failure and break up of my expedition, he set to work and
obtained a new fund for me to continue my labours. Although the greatest despatch was used, and the money quickly
obtained, yet it required some months before I could again depart. I reached Adelaide late in January, 1873, and as
soon as funds were available I set to work at the organisation of a new expedition. I obtained the services of a young
friend named William Henry Tietkins — who came over from Melbourne to join me — and we got a young fellow named James
Andrews, or Jimmy as we always called him. I bought a light four-wheeled trap and several horses, and we left Adelaide
early in March, 1873. We drove up the country by way of the Burra mines to Port Augusta at the head of Spencer's Gulf,
buying horses as we went; and having some pack saddles on the wagon, these we put on our new purchases as we got
them.

Before I left Adelaide I had instructed Messrs. Tassie & Co., of Port Augusta, to forward certain stores
required for our journey, which loading had already been despatched by teams to the Peake. We made a leisurely journey
up the country, as it was of no use to overtake our stores. At Beltana Mr. Chandler had got and kept my black boy Dick,
who pretended to be overjoyed to see me, and perhaps he really was; but he was extra effusive in his affection, and now
declared he had been a silly young fool, that he didn't care for wild blacks now a bit, and would go with me anywhere.
When Mr. Chandler got him he was half starved, living in a blacks' camp, and had scarcely any clothes. Leaving Beltana,
in a few days we passed the Finniss Springs Station, and one of the people there made all sorts of overtures to Dick,
who was now dressed in good clothes, and having had some good living lately, had got into pretty good condition; some
promises must have been made him, as when we reached the Gregory, he bolted away, and I never saw him afterwards.

The Gregory was now running, and by simply dipping out a bucketful of water, several dozens of minnows could be
caught. In this way we got plenty of them, and frying them in butter, just as they were, they proved the most delicious
food it was possible to eat, equal, if not superior, to whitebait. Nothing of a very interesting nature occurred during
our journey up to the Peake, where we were welcomed by the Messrs. Bagot at the Cattle Station, and Mr. Blood of the
Telegraph Department. Here we fixed up all our packs, sold Mr. Bagot the wagon, and bought horses and other things; we
had now twenty packhorses and four riding ditto. Here a short young man accosted me, and asked me if I did not remember
him, saying at the same time that he was “Alf.” I fancied I knew his face, but thought it was at the Peake that I had
seen him, but he said, “Oh no, don't you remember Alf with Bagot's sheep at the north-west bend of the Murray? my
name's Alf Gibson, and I want to go out with you.” I said, “Well, can you shoe? can you ride? can you starve? can you
go without water? and how would you like to be speared by the blacks outside?” He said he could do everything I had
mentioned, and he wasn't afraid of the blacks. He was not a man I would have picked out of a mob, but men were scarce,
and as he seemed so anxious to come, and as I wanted somebody, I agreed to take him. We got all our horses shod, and
two extra sets of shoes fitted for each, marked, and packed away. I had a little black-and-tan terrier dog called
Cocky, and Gibson had a little pup of the same breed, which he was so anxious to take that at last I permitted him to
do so.

Our horses' loads were very heavy at starting, the greater number of the horses carrying 200 pounds. The animals
were not in very good condition; I got the horse I had formerly left here, Badger, the one whose pack had been on fire
at the end of my last trip. I had decided to make a start upon this expedition from a place known as Ross's Water-hole
in the Alberga Creek, at its junction with the Stevenson, the Alberga being one of the principal tributaries of the
Finke. The position of Ross's Water-hole is in latitude 27° 8´ and longitude 135° 45´, it lying 120 to 130 miles in
latitude more to the south than the Mount Olga of my first journey, which was a point I was most desirous to reach.
Having tried without success to reach it from the north, I now intended to try from a more southerly line. Ross's
Water-hole is called ninety miles from the Peake, and we arrived there without any difficulty. The nights now were
exceedingly cold, as it was near the end of July. When we arrived I left the others in camp and rode myself to the
Charlotte Waters, expecting to get my old horse Cocky, and load him with 200 pounds of flour; but when I arrived there,
the creek water-hole was dry, and all the horses running loose on the Finke. I got two black boys to go out and try to
get the horse, but on foot in the first place they could never have done it, and in the second place, when they
returned, they said they could not find him at all. I sent others, but to no purpose, and eventually had to leave the
place without getting him, and returned empty-handed to the depot, having had my journey and lost my time for
nothing.

There was but poor feed at the water-hole, every teamster and traveller always camping there. Some few natives
appeared at the camp, and brought some boys and girls. An old man said he could get me a flour-bag full of salt up the
creek, so I despatched him for it; he brought back a little bit of dirty salty gravel in one hand, and expected a lot
of flour, tea, sugar, meat, tobacco, and clothes for it; but I considered my future probable requirements, and
refrained from too much generosity. A nice little boy called Albert agreed to come with us, but the old man would not
allow him — I suppose on account of the poor reward he got for his salt. A young black fellow here said he had found a
white man's musket a long way up the creek, and that he had got it in his wurley, and would give it to me for flour,
tea, sugar, tobacco, matches, and clothes. I only promised flour, and away he went to get the weapon. Next day he
returned, and before reaching the camp began to yell, “White fellow mukkety, white fellow mukkety.” I could see he had
no such thing in his hands, but when he arrived he unfolded a piece of dirty old pocket handkerchief, from which he
produced — what? an old discharged copper revolver cartridge. His reward was commensurate with his prize.

The expedition consisted of four members — namely, myself, Mr. William Henry Tietkins, Alfred Gibson, and James
Andrews, with twenty-four horses and two little dogs. On Friday, the 1st of August, 1873, we were prepared to start,
but rain stopped us; again on Sunday some more fell. We finally left the encampment on the morning of Monday, the
4th.

On Monday, the 4th August, 1873, my new expedition, under very favourable circumstances, started from Ross's
Water-hole in the Alberga. The country through which the Alberga here runs is mostly open and stony, but good country
for stock of all kinds. The road and the telegraph line are here thirteen miles apart. At that distance up the creek,
nearly west, we reached it. The frame of an old building was convenient for turning into a house, with a tarpaulin for
a roof, as there appeared a likelihood of more rain. Some water was got in a clay-pan in the neighbourhood.

A misty and cloudy morning warned us to keep under canvas: rain fell at intervals during the day, and at sundown
heavy thunder and bright lightning came from the north-west, with a closing good smart shower. The next morning was
fine and clear, though the night had been extremely cold. The bed of this creek proved broad but ill-defined, and cut
up into numerous channels. Farther along the creek a more scrubby region was found; the soil was soft after the rain,
but no water was seen lying about. The creek seemed to be getting smaller; I did not like its appearance very much, so
struck away north-west. The country now was all thick mulga scrub and grassy sandhills; amongst these we found a
clay-pan with some water in it. At night we were still in the scrub, without water, but we were not destined to leave
it without any, for at ten o'clock a thunderstorm from the north-west came up, and before we could get half our things
under canvas, we were thoroughly drenched. Off our tarpaulins we obtained plenty of water for breakfast; but the ground
would not retain any. Sixteen miles farther along we came down out of the sandhills on to a creek where we found water,
and camped, but the grass was very poor, dry, and innutritious. More rain threatened, but the night was dry, and the
morning clear and beautiful. This creek was the Hamilton. Two of its native lords visited the camp this morning, and
did not appear at all inclined to leave it. The creek is here broad and sandy: the timber is small and stunted. Towards
evening the two Hamiltonians put on airs of great impudence, and became very objectionable; two or three times I had to
resist their encroachments into the camp, and at last they greatly annoyed me. I couldn't quite make out what they said
to one another; but I gathered they expected more of their tribe, and were anxiously looking out for them in all
directions. Finally, as our guns wanted discharging and cleaning after the late showers, we fired them off, and so soon
as the natives saw us first handle and then discharge them, off they went, and returned to Balclutha no more.

An Incident of Travel.

Going farther up the creek, we met some small tributaries with fine little water-holes. Some ridges now approached
the creek; from the top of one many sheets of water glittered in stony clay-pans. More westerly the creek ran under a
hill. Crossing another tributary where there was plenty of water, we next saw a large clay-hole in the main creek — it
was, however, dry. When there was some water in it, the natives had fenced it round to catch any large game that might
come to drink; at present they were saved the trouble, for game and water had both alike departed. Mr. Tietkens, my
lieutenant and second in command, found a very pretty amphitheatre formed by the hills; we encamped there, at some
clay-pans; the grass, however, was very poor; scrubs appeared on the other side of the creek. A junction with another
creek occurred near here, beyond which the channel was broad, flat, sandy, and covered indiscriminately with timber;
scrubs existed on either bank. We had to cross and recross the bed as the best road. We found a place in it where the
natives had dug, and where we got water, but the supply was very unsatisfactory, an enormous quantity of sand having to
be shifted before the most willing horse could get down to it. We succeeded at length with the aid of canvas buckets,
and by the time the whole twenty four were satisfied, we were also. The grass was dry as usual, but the horses ate it,
probably because there is no other for them. Our course to-day was 8° south of west. Close to where we encamped were
three or four saplings placed in a row in the bed of the creek, and a diminutive tent-frame, as though some one, if not
done by native children, had been playing at erecting a miniature telegraph line. I did not like this creek much more
than the Alberga, and decided to try the country still farther north-west. This we did, passing through somewhat thick
scrubs for eighteen miles, when we came full upon the creek again, and here for the first time since we started we
noticed some bunches of spinifex, the Festuca irritans, and some native poplar trees. These have a straight stem, and
are in outline somewhat like a pine-tree, but the foliage is of a fainter green, and different-shaped leaf. They are
very pretty to the eye, but generally inhabit the very poorest regions; the botanical name of this tree is Codonocarpus
cotinifolius. At five miles farther we dug in the bed of the creek, but only our riding-horses could be watered by
night. White pipeclay existed on the bed. The weather was oppressive to-day. Here my latitude was 26° 27´, longitude
134°. It took all next day to water the horses. Thermometer 92° in shade, hot wind blowing. The dead limb of a tree, to
which we fixed our tarpaulin as an awning for shade, slipped down while we were at dinner; it first fell on the head of
Jimmy Andrews, which broke it in half; it also fell across my back, tearing my waistcoat, shirt, and skin; but as it
only fell on Jimmy's head of course it couldn't hurt him. The country still scrubby on both sides: we now travelled
about north-north-west, and reached a low stony rise in the scrubs, and from it saw the creek stretching away towards
some other ridges nearly on the line we were travelling. We skirted the creek, and in eleven miles we saw other hills
of greater elevation than any we had yet seen.

Reaching the first ridge, we got water by digging a few inches into the pipeclay bed of the creek; a more extended
view was here obtained, and ranges appeared from west, round by north-west, to north; there were many flat-topped hills
and several singular cones, and the country appeared more open. I was much pleased to think I had distanced the scrubs.
One cone in the new range bore north 52° west, and for some distance the creek trended that way. On reaching the foot
of the new hills, I found the creek had greatly altered its appearance, if indeed it was the same. It is possible the
main creek may have turned more to the west, and that this is only a tributary, but as we found some surface water in a
clay-hole, we liked it better than having to dig in a larger channel. Here for the first time for many weeks we came
upon some green grass, which the horses greedily devoured. The country here is much better and more open. On mustering
the horses this morning, one was found to be dead lame, with a mulga stake in his coronet, and as he could not travel
we were forced to remain at the camp; at least the camp was not shifted. This horse was called Trew; he was one of the
best in the mob, though then I had not found out all his good qualities — he now simply carried a pack. Mr. Tietkens
and I mounted our horses and rode farther up the creek. The channel had partly recovered its appearance, and it may be
our old one after all. Above the camp its course was nearly north, and a line of low bluff-faced hills formed its
eastern bank. The country towards the new ranges looked open and inviting, and we rode to a prominent cone in it, to
the west-north-west. The country was excellent, being open and grassy, and having fine cotton and salt bush flats all
over it: there was surface water in clay-pans lying about. I called this the Anthony Range. We returned much pleased
with our day's ride.

The nights were now agreeably cool, sometimes very dewy. The lame horse was still very bad, but we lightened his
load, and after the first mile he travelled pretty well. We steered for the singular cone in advance. Most of the
hills, however, of the Anthony Range were flat-topped, though many tent-shaped ones exist also. I ascended the cone in
ten miles, west of north-west from camp. The view displayed hills for miles in all directions, amongst which were many
bare rocks of red colour heaped into the most fantastically tossed mounds imaginable, with here and there an odd shrub
growing from the interstices of the rocks; some small miniature creeks, with only myal and mulga growing in them, ran
through the valleys — all of these had recently been running. We camped a mile or two beyond the cone in an extremely
pretty and romantic valley; the grass was green, and Nature appeared in one of her smiling moods, throwing a gleam of
sunshine on the minds of the adventurers who had sought her in one of her wilderness recesses. The only miserable
creature in our party was the lame horse, but now indeed he had a mate in misfortune, for we found that another horse,
Giant Despair, had staked himself during our day's march, though he did not appear lame until we stopped, and his
hobbles were about to be put on. Mr. Tietkens extracted a long mulga stick from his fetlock: neither of the two staked
horses ever became sound again, although they worked well enough. In the night, or rather by morning (daylight), the
thermometer had fallen to 30°, and though there was a heavy dew there was neither frost nor ice.

We now passed up to the head of the picturesque valley, and from there wound round some of the mounds of bare rocks
previously mentioned. They are composed of a kind of a red conglomerate granite. We turned in and out amongst the hills
till we arrived at the banks of a small creek lined with eucalyptus or gum-trees, and finding some water we encamped on
a piece of beautiful-looking country, splendidly grassed and ornamented with the fantastic mounds, and the creek timber
as back and fore grounds for the picture. Small birds twittered on each bough, sang their little songs of love or hate,
and gleefully fled or pursued each other from tree to tree. The atmosphere seemed cleared of all grossness or
impurities, a few sunlit clouds floated in space, and a perfume from Nature's own laboratory was exhaled from the
flowers and vegetation around. It might well be said that here were

“Gusts of fragrance on the grasses,

In the skies a softened splendour;

Through the copse and woodland passes

Songs of birds in cadence tender.”

The country was so agreeable here we had no desire to traverse it at railway speed; it was delightful to loll and
lie upon the land, in abandoned languishment beneath the solar ray. Thirty or forty miles farther away,
west-north-westward, other and independent hills or ranges stood, though I was grieved to remark that the intermediate
region seemed entirely filled with scrub. How soon the scenery changes! Travelling now for the new hills, we soon
entered scrubs, where some plots of the dreaded triodia were avoided. In the scrubs, at ten miles we came upon the
banks of a large gum-timbered creek, whose trees were fine and vigorous. In the bed we found a native well, with water
at no great depth; the course of this creek where we struck it, was south-south-east, and we travelled along its banks
in an opposite, that is to say, north-north-west direction. That line, however, took us immediately into the thick
scrubs, so at four miles on this bearing I climbed a tree, and saw that I must turn north to cut it again; this I did,
and in three miles we came at right angles upon a creek which I felt sure was not the one we had left, the scrub being
so thick one could hardly see a yard ahead. Here I sent Jimmy Andrews up a tree; having been a sailor boy, he is well
skilled in that kind of performance, but I am not. I told him to discover the whereabouts of the main creek, and say
how far off it appeared. That brilliant genius informed me that it lay across the course we were steering, north, and
it was only a mile away; so we went on to it, as we supposed, but having gone more than two miles and not reaching it,
I asked Jimmy whether he had not made some mistake. I said, “We have already come two miles, and you said it was
scarcely one.” He then kindly informed me that I was going all wrong, and ought not to go that way at all; but upon my
questioning him as to which way I should go he replied, “Oh, I don't know now.” My only plan was to turn east,
when we soon struck the creek. Then Jimmy declared if we had kept north long enough, we would have come to it
agin.

Though Jimmy was certainly a bit of a fool, he was not perhaps quite a fool of the greatest size. Little fools and
young fools somehow seem to pass muster in this peculiar world, but to be old and a fool is a mistake which is
difficult, if not impossible, to remedy. It was too late to go any farther; we couldn't get any water, but we had to
camp. I intended to return in the morning to where we first struck this creek, and where we saw water in the native
well. I called this the Krichauff. The mercury went down to 28° by daylight the next morning, but neither ice nor frost
appeared. This morning Mr. Tietkens, when out after the horses, found a rather deep native well some distance up the
creek, and we shifted the camp to it. On the way there I was behind the party, and before I overtook them I heard the
report of firearms. On reaching the horses, Jimmy Andrews had his revolver in his hand, Mr. Tietkens and Gibson being
away. On inquiring of Jimmy the cause of the reports and the reason of his having his revolver in his hand, he replied
that he thought Mr. Tietkens was shooting the blacks, and he had determined to slaughter his share if they attacked
him. Mr. Tietkens had fired at some wallabies, which, however, did not appear at dinner. On arrival at the new well, we
had a vast amount of work to perform, and only three or four horses got water by night.

I told Mr. Tietkens not to work himself to death, as I would retreat in the morning to where there was water, but he
persisted in working away by himself in the night, and was actually able to water all the horses in the morning. Labor
omnia vincit. Last night there was a heavy fall of dew, thermometer 28°, but no frost or ice. I was delighted to turn
my back upon this wretched place.

The object of our present line was to reach the new hills seen from the Anthony Range. Three of them appeared higher
than, and isolated from, the others. They now bore west of us — at least they should have done so, and I hoped they
did, for in such thick scrubs it was quite impossible to see them. No matter for that, we steered west for them and
traversed a region of dense scrubs. I was compelled to ride in advance with a bell on my stirrup to enable the others
to hear which way to come. In seventeen miles we struck a small gum creek without water, but there was good herbage. In
the scrubs to-day we saw a native pheasant's nest, the Leipoa ocellata of Gould, but there were no eggs in it. This
bird is known by different names in different parts of Australia. On the eastern half of the continent it is usually
called the Lowan, while in Western Australia it is known as the Gnow; both I believe are native names. Another cold
night, thermometer 26°, with a slight hoar frost. Moving on still west through scrubs, but not so thick as yesterday,
some beautiful and open ground was met till we reached the foot of some low ridges.

From the top of one of these, we had before us a most charming view, red ridges of extraordinary shapes and
appearance being tossed up in all directions, with the slopes of the soil, from whence they seemed to spring, rising
gently, and with verdure clad in a garment of grass whose skirts were fringed with flowers to their feet. These slopes
were beautifully bedecked with flowers of the most varied hues, throwing a magic charm over the entire scene. Vast bare
red

“Rocks piled on rocks stupendous hurled,

Like fragments of an earlier world,”

appeared everywhere, but the main tier of ranges for which I had been steering was still several miles farther away
to the west. Thinking that water, the scarcest here of Nature's gifts, must surely exist in such a lovely region as
this, it was more with the keen and critical eye of the explorer in search of that element, than of the admirer of
Nature in her wildest grace, that I surveyed the scene. A small gum creek lay to the south, to which Mr. Tietkens went.
I sent Gibson to a spot about two miles off to the west, as straight before us in that direction lay a huge mass of
rocks and bare slabs of stone, which might have rock reservoirs amongst them. To the north lay a longer jumble of
hills, with overhanging ledges and bare precipices, which I undertook to search, leaving Jimmy to mind the horses until
some of us returned. Neither Mr. Tietkens nor Gibson could find any water, and I was returning quite disappointed,
after wandering over hills and rocks, through gullies and under ledges, when at length I espied a small and very
fertile little glen whose brighter green attracted my notice. Here a small gully came down between two hills, and in
the bed of the little channel I saw a patch of blacker soil, and on reaching it I found a small but deep native well
with a little water at the bottom. It was an extraordinary little spot, and being funnel shaped, I doubted whether any
animal but a bird or a black man could get down to it, and I also expected it would prove a hideous bog; but my little
friend (W.A.) seemed so determined to test its nature, and though it was nearly four feet to the water, he quietly let
his forefeet slip down into it, and though his hindquarters were high and dry above his head he got a good drink, which
he told me in his language he was very thankful for. I brought the whole party to the spot, and we had immediately to
set to work to enlarge the well. We found the water supply by no means abundant, as, though we all worked hard at it in
turns with the shovel, it did not drain in as fast as one horse could drink; but by making a large hole, we expected
sufficient would drain in during the night for the remainder of the horses. We did not cease from our work until it was
quite dark, when we retired to our encampment, quite sufficiently tired to make us sleep without the aid of any
lullaby.

Upon inspection this morning we found but a poor supply of water had drained into our tank in the night, and that
there was by no means sufficient for the remaining horses; these had no water yesterday. We passed the forenoon in
still enlarging the tank, and as soon as a bucketful drained in, it was given to one of the horses. We planted the
seeds of a lot of vegetables and trees here, such as Tasmanian blue gum, wattle, melons, pumpkins, cucumbers, maize,
etc.; and then Mr. Tietkens and I got our horses and rode to the main hills to the west, in hopes of discovering more
water. We started late, and it was dark when we reached the range. The country passed over between it and our
encampment, was exceedingly beautiful; hills being thrown up in red ridges of bare rock, with the native fig-tree
growing among the rocks, festooning them into infinite groups of beauty, while the ground upon which we rode was a
perfect carpet of verdure. We were therefore in high anticipation of finding some waters equivalent to the scene; but
as night was advancing, our search had to be delayed until the morrow. The dew was falling fast, the night air was
cool, and deliciously laden with the scented exhalations from trees and shrubs and flowers. The odour of almonds was
intense, reminding me of the perfumes of the wattle blooms of the southern, eastern, and more fertile portions of this
continent. So exquisite was the aroma, that I recalled to my mind Gordon's beautiful lines:—

“In the spring when the wattle gold trembles,

Twixt shadow and shine,

When each dew-laden air draught resembles;

A long draught of wine.”

So delightful indeed was the evening that it was late when we gave ourselves up to the oblivion of slumber, beneath
the cool and starry sky. We made a fire against a log about eighteen inches thick; this was a limb from an adjacent
blood-wood or red gum-tree, and this morning we discovered that it had been chopped off its parent stem either with an
axe or tomahawk, and carried some forty or fifty yards from where it had originally fallen. This seemed very strange;
in the first place for natives, so far out from civilisation as this, to have axes or tomahawks; and in the second
place, to chop logs or boughs off a tree was totally against their practice. By sunrise we were upon the summit of the
mountain; it consisted of enormous blocks and boulders of red granite, so riven and fissured that no water could
possibly lodge upon it for an instant. I found it also to be highly magnetic, there being a great deal of ironstone
about the rocks. It turned the compass needle from its true north point to 10° south of west, but the attraction ceased
when the compass was removed four feet from contact with the rocks. The view from this mount was of singular and almost
awful beauty. The mount, and all the others connected with it, rose simply like islands out of a vast ocean of scrub.
The beauty of the locality lay entirely within itself. Innumerable red ridges ornamented with fig-trees, rising out of
green and grassy slopes, met the eye everywhere to the east, north, and northeast, and the country between each was
just sufficiently timbered to add a charm to the view. But the appearance of water still was wanting; no signs of it,
or of any basin or hollow that could hold it, met the gaze in any direction, This alone was wanting to turn a
wilderness into a garden.

There were four large mounts in this chain, higher than any of the rest, including the one I was on. Here we saw a
quantity of what I at first thought were white sea-shells, but we found they were the bleached shells of land snails.
Far away to the north some ranges appeared above the dense ocean of intervening scrubs. To the south, scrubs reigned
supreme; but to the west, the region for which I was bound, the prospect looked far more cheering. The far horizon,
there, was bounded by a very long and apparently connected chain of considerable elevation, seventy to eighty miles
away. One conspicuous mountain, evidently nearer than the longer chain, bore 15° to the south of west, while an
apparent gap or notch in the more distant line bore 23° south of west. The intervening country appeared all flat, and
very much more open than in any other direction; I could discern long vistas of green grass, dotted with yellow
immortelles, but as the perspective declined, these all became lost in lightly timbered country. These grassy glades
were fair to see, reminding one somewhat of Merrie England's glades and Sherwood forests green, where errant knight in
olden days rode forth in mailed sheen; and memory oft, the golden rover, recalls the tales of old romance, how ladie
bright unto her lover, some young knight, smitten with her glance, would point out some heroic labour, some unheard-of
deed of fame; he must carve out with his sabre, and ennoble thus his name. He, a giant must defeat sure, he must free
the land from tain, he must kill some monstrous creature, or return not till 'twas slain. Then she'd smile on him
victorious, call him the bravest in the land, fame and her, to win, how glorious — win and keep her heart and hand!

Although no water was found here, what it pleases me to call my mind was immediately made up. I would return at once
to the camp, where water was so scarce, and trust all to the newly discovered chain to the west. Water must surely
exist there, we had but to reach it. I named these mounts Ayers Range. Upon returning to our camp, six or seven miles
off, I saw that a mere dribble of water remained in the tank. Gibson was away after the horses, and when he brought
them, he informed me he had found another place, with some water lying on the rocks, and two native wells close by with
water in them, much shallower than our present one, and that they were about three miles away. I rode off with him to
inspect his new discovery, and saw there was sufficient surface water for our horses for a day or two.

These rocks are most singular, being mostly huge red, rounded solid blocks of stone, shaped like the backs of
enormous turtles. I was much pleased with Gibson's discovery, and we moved the camp down to this spot, which we always
after called the Turtle Back. The grass and herbage were excellent, but the horses had not had sufficient water since
we arrived here. It is wonderful how in such a rocky region so little water appears to exist. The surface water was
rather difficult for the horses to reach, as it lay upon the extreme summit of the rock, the sides of which were very
steep and slippery. There were plenty of small birds; hawks and crows, a species of cockatoo, some pigeons, and eagles
soaring high above. More seeds were planted here, the soil being very good. Upon the opposite or eastern side of this
rock was a large ledge or cave, under which the Troglodytes of these realms had frequently encamped. It was ornamented
with many of their rude representations of creeping things, amongst which the serpent class predominated; there were
also other hideous shapes, of things such as can exist only in their imaginations, and they are but the weak endeavours
of these benighted beings to give form and semblance to the symbolisms of the dread superstitions, that, haunting the
vacant chambers of their darkened minds, pass amongst them in the place of either philosophy or religion.

Next morning, watering all our horses, and having a fine open-air bath on the top of the Turtle Back, Mr. Tietkens
and I got three of them and again started for Ayers Range, nearly west. Reaching it, we travelled upon the bearing of
the gap which we had seen in the most distant range. The country as we proceeded we found splendidly open, beautifully
grassed, and it rose occasionally into some low ridges. At fifteen miles from the Turtle Back we found some clay-pans
with water, where we turned out our horses for an hour. A mob of emus came to inspect us, and Mr. Tietkens shot one in
a fleshy part of the neck, which rather helped it to run away at full speed instead of detaining, so that we might
capture it. Next some parallel ridges lying north and south were crossed, where some beefwood, or Grevillea trees,
ornamented the scene, the country again opening into beautiful grassy lawns. One or two creek channels were crossed,
and a larger one farther on, whose timber indeed would scarcely reach our course; as it would not come to us, we went
to it. The gum-timber upon it was thick and vigorous — it came from the north-westward. A quantity of the so called
tea-tree [Melaleuca] grew here. In two miles up the channel we found where a low ridge crossed and formed a kind of low
pass. An old native well existed here, which, upon cleaning out with a quart pot, disclosed the element of our search
to our view at a depth of nearly five feet. The natives always make these wells of such an abominable shape, that of a
funnel, never thinking how awkward they must be to white men with horses — some people are so unfeeling! It took us a
long time to water our three horses. There was a quantity of the little purple vetch here, of which all animals are so
fond, and which is so fattening. There was plenty of this herb at the Turtle Back, and wherever it grows it gives the
country a lovely carnation tinge; this, blending with the bright green of the grass, and the yellow and other tinted
hues of several kinds of flowers, impresses on the whole region the appearance of a garden.

In the morning, in consequence of a cold and dewy night, the horses declined to drink. Regaining our yesterday's
course, we continued for ten miles, when we noticed that the nearest mountain seen from Ayers Range was now not more
than thirty miles away. It appeared red, bald, and of some altitude; to our left was another mass of jumbled turtle
backs, and we turned to search for water among them. A small gum creek to the south-south-east was first visited and
left in disgust, and all the rocks and hills we searched, were equally destitute of water. We wasted the rest of the
day in fruitless search; Nature seemed to have made no effort whatever to form any such thing as a rockhole, and we saw
no place where the natives had ever even dug. We had been riding from morning until night, and we had neither found
water nor reached the mountain. We returned to our last night's camp, where the sand had all fallen into the well, and
we had our last night's performance with the quart pot to do over again.

In the morning I decided to send Mr. Tietkens back to the camp to bring the party here, while I went to the mountain
to search for water. We now discovered we had brought but a poor supply of food, and that a hearty supper would
demolish the lot, so we had to be sadly economical. When we got our horses the next morning we departed, each on his
separate errand — Mr. Tietkens for the camp, I for the mountain. I made a straight course for it, and in three or four
miles found the country exceedingly scrubby. At ten miles I came upon a number of native huts, which were of large
dimensions and two-storied; by this I mean they had an upper attic, or cupboard recess. When the natives return to
these, I suppose they know of some water, or else get it out of the roots of trees. The scrubs became thicker and
thicker, and only at intervals could the mountain be seen. At a spot where the natives had burnt the old grass, and
where some new rich vegetation grew, I gave my horse the benefit of an hour's rest, for he had come twenty-two miles.
The day was delightful; the thermometer registered only 76° in the shade. I had had a very poor breakfast, and now had
an excellent appetite for all the dinner I could command, and I could not help thinking that there is a great deal of
sound philosophy in the Chinese doctrine, That the seat of the mind and the intellect is situate in the stomach.

Starting again and gaining a rise in the dense ocean of scrub, I got a sight of the mountain, whose appearance was
most wonderful; it seemed so rifted and riven, and had acres of bare red rock without a shrub or tree upon it. I next
found myself under the shadow of a huge rock towering above me amidst the scrubs, but too hidden to perceive until I
reached it. On ascending it I was much pleased to discover, at a mile and a half off, the gum timber of a creek which
meandered through this wilderness. On gaining its banks I was disappointed to find that its channel was very flat and
poorly defined, though the timber upon it was splendid. Elegant upright creamy stems supported their umbrageous tops,
whose roots must surely extend downwards to a moistened soil. On each bank of the creek was a strip of green and open
ground, so richly grassed and so beautifully bedecked with flowers that it seemed like suddenly escaping from purgatory
into paradise when emerging from the recesses of the scrubs on to the banks of this beautiful, I wish I might call it,
stream.

Opposite to where I struck it stood an extraordinary hill or ridge, consisting of a huge red turtle back having a
number of enormous red stones almost egg-shaped, traversing, or rather standing in a row upon, its whole length like a
line of elliptical Tors. I could compare it to nothing else than an enormous oolitic monster of the turtle kind
carrying its eggs upon its back. A few cypress pine-trees grew in the interstices of the rocks, giving it a most
elegant appearance. Hoping to find some rock or other reservoir of water, I rode over to this creature, or feature.
Before reaching its foot, I came upon a small piece of open, firm, grassy ground, most beautifully variegated with
many-coloured vegetation, with a small bare piece of ground in the centre, with rain water lying on it. The place was
so exquisitely lovely it seemed as if only rustic garden seats were wanting, to prove that it had been laid out by the
hand of man. But it was only an instance of one of Nature's freaks, in which she had so successfully imitated her
imitator, Art. I watered my horse and left him to graze on this delectable spot, while I climbed the oolitic's back.
There was not sufficient water in the garden for all my horses, and it was actually necessary for me to find more, or
else the region would be untenable.

The view from this hill was wild and strange; the high, bald forehead of the mountain was still four or five miles
away, the country between being all scrub. The creek came from the south-westward, and was lost in the scrubs to the
east of north. A thick and vigorous clump of eucalypts down the creek induced me first to visit them, but the channel
was hopelessly dry. Returning, I next went up the creek, and came to a place where great boulders of stone crossed the
bed, and where several large-sized holes existed, but were now dry. Hard by, however, I found a damp spot, and near it
in the sand a native well, not more than two feet deep, and having water in it. Still farther up I found an overhanging
rock, with a good pool of water at its foot, and I was now satisfied with my day's work. Here I camped. I made a fire
at a large log lying in the creek bed; my horse was up to his eyes in most magnificent herbage, and I could not help
envying him as I watched him devouring his food. I felt somewhat lonely, and cogitated that what has been written or
said by cynics, solitaries, or Byrons, of the delights of loneliness, has no real home in the human heart. Nothing
could appal the mind so much as the contemplation of eternal solitude. Well may another kind of poet exclaim, Oh,
solitude! where are the charms that sages have seen in thy face? for human sympathy is one of the passions of human
nature. Natives had been here very recently, and the scrubs were burning, not far off to the northwards, in the
neighbourhood of the creek channel. As night descended, I lay me down by my bright camp fire in peace to sleep, though
doubtless there are very many of my readers who would scarcely like to do the same. Such a situation might naturally
lead one to consider how many people have lain similarly down at night, in fancied security, to be awakened only by the
enemies' tomahawk crashing through their skulls. Such thoughts, if they intruded themselves upon my mind, were expelled
by others that wandered away to different scenes and distant friends, for this Childe Harold also had a mother not
forgot, and sisters whom he loved, but saw them not, ere yet his weary pilgrimage begun.

Dreams also, between sleeping and waking, passed swiftly through my brain, and in my lonely sleep I had real dreams,
sweet, fanciful, and bright, mostly connected with the enterprise upon which I had embarked — dreams that I had
wandered into, and was passing through, tracts of fabulously lovely glades, with groves and grottos green, watered by
never-failing streams of crystal, dotted with clusters of magnificent palm-trees, and having groves, charming groves,
of the fairest of pines, of groves “whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm.”

“And all throughout the night there reigned the sense

Of waking dream, with luscious thoughts o'erladen;

Of joy too conscious made, and too intense,

By the swift advent of this longed-for aidenn.”

On awaking, however, I was forced to reflect, how “mysterious are these laws! The vision's finer than the view: her
landscape Nature never draws so fair as fancy drew.” The morning was cold, the thermometer stood at 28°, and
now —

“The morn was up again, the dewy morn;

With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom,

Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn,

And smiling, as if earth contained no tomb:

And glowing into day.”

With this charming extract from Byron for breakfast I saddled my horse, having nothing more to detain me here,
intending to bring up the whole party as soon as possible.

Tietken's Birthday Creek and Mount Carnarvon.

On Birthday Creek.

I now, however, returned by a more southerly route, and found the scrubs less thick, and came to some low red rises
in them. Having travelled east, I now turned on the bearing for the tea-tree creek, where the party ought now to be. At
six miles on this line I came upon some open ground, and saw several emus. This induced me to look around for water,
and I found some clay-pans with enough water to last a week. I was very well pleased, as this would save time and
trouble in digging at the tea-tree. The water here was certainly rather thick, and scarcely fit for human organisms, at
least for white ones, though it might suit black ones well enough, and it was good enough for our horses, which was the
greatest consideration. I rested my horse here for an hour, and then rode to the tea-tree. The party, however, were not
there, and I waited in expectation of their arrival. In about an hour Mr. Tietkens came and informed me that on his
return to the camp the other day he had found a nice little water, six miles from here, and where the party was, and to
which we now rode together. At this agreeable little spot were the three essentials for an explorer's camp — that is to
say, wood, water, and grass. From there we went to my clay pans, and the next day to my lonely camp of dreams. This,
the 30th August, was an auspicious day in our travels, it being no less than Mr. Tietkens's nine-and-twentieth
birthday. We celebrated it with what honours the expedition stores would afford, obtaining a flat bottle of spirits
from the medical department, with which we drank to his health and many happier returns of the day. In honour of the
occasion I called this Tietkens's Birthday Creek, and hereby proclaim it unto the nations that such should be its name
for ever. The camp was not moved, but Mr. Tietkens and I rode over to the high mountain to-day, taking with us all the
apparatus necessary for so great an ascent — that is to say, thermometer, barometer, compass, field glasses, quart pot,
waterbag, and matches. In about four miles we reached its foot, and found its sides so bare and steep that I took off
my boots for the ascent. It was formed for the most part like a stupendous turtle back, of a conglomerate granite, with
no signs of water, or any places that would retain it for a moment, round or near its base. Upon reaching its summit,
the view was most extensive in every direction except the west, and though the horizon was bounded in all directions by
ranges, yet scrubs filled the entire spaces between. To the north lay a long and very distant range, which I thought
might be the Gill's Range of my last expedition, though it would certainly be a stretch either of imagination or
vision, for that range was nearly 140 miles away.

To the north-westward was a flat-topped hill, rising like a table from an ocean of scrub; it was very much higher
than such hills usually are. This was Mount Conner. To the south, and at a considerable distance away, lay another
range of some length, apparently also of considerable altitude. I called this the Everard Range. The horizon westward
was bounded by a continuous mass of hills or mountains, from the centre of which Birthday Creek seemed to issue. Many
of the mounts westward appeared of considerable elevation. The natives were burning the scrubs west and north-west. On
the bare rocks of this mountain we saw several white, bleached snail-shells. I was grieved to find that my barometer
had met with an accident in our climb; however, by testing the boiling point of water I obtained the altitude.

Water boiled at 206°, giving an elevation of 3085 feet above the level of the sea, it being about 1200 feet above
the surrounding country. The view of Birthday Creek winding along in little bends through the scrubs from its parent
mountains, was most pleasing. Down below us were some very pretty little scenes. One was a small sandy channel, like a
plough furrow, with a few eucalyptus trees upon it, running from a ravine near the foot of this mount, which passed at
about a mile through two red mounds of rock, only just wide enough apart to admit of its passage. A few cypress pines
were growing close to the little gorge. On any other part of the earth's surface, if, indeed, such another place could
be found, water must certainly exist also, but here there was none. We had a perfect bird's-eye view of the spot. We
could only hope, for beauty and natural harmony's sake, that water must exist, at least below the surface, if not
above. Having completed our survey, we descended barefooted as before.

On reaching the camp, Gibson and Jimmy had shot some parrots and other birds, which must have flown down the barrels
of their guns, otherwise they never could have hit them, and we had an excellent supper of parrot soup. Just here we
have only seen parrots, magpies and a few pigeons, though plenty of kangaroo, wallaby, and emu; but have not succeeded
in bagging any of the latter game, as they are exceedingly shy and difficult to approach, from being so continually
hunted by the natives. I named this very singular feature Mount Carnarvon, or The Sentinel, as soon I found

“The mountain there did stand

T sentinel enchanted land.”

The night was cold; mercury down to 26°. What little dew fell became frosted; there was not sufficient to call it
frozen. I found my position here to be in latitude 26° 3´, longitude 132° 29´.

In the night of the 1st September, heavy clouds were flying fastly over us, and a few drops of rain fell at
intervals. About ten o'clock p.m. I observed a lunar rainbow in the northern horizon; its diameter was only about
fifteen degrees. There were no prismatic colours visible about it. To-day was clear, fine, but rather windy. We
travelled up the creek, skirting its banks, but cutting off the bends. We had low ridges on our right. The creek came
for some distance from the south-west, then more southerly, then at ten miles, more directly from the hills to the
west. The country along its banks was excellent, and the scenery most beautiful — pine-clad, red, and rocky hills being
scattered about in various directions, while further to the west and south-west the high, bold, and very rugged chain
rose into peaks and points. We only travelled sixteen miles, and encamped close to a pretty little pine-clad hill, on
the north bank of the creek, where some rocks traversed the bed, and we easily obtained a good supply of water. The
grass and herbage being magnificent, the horses were in a fine way to enjoy themselves.

This spot is one of the most charming that even imagination could paint. In the background were the high and pointed
peaks of the main chain, from which sloped a delightful green valley; through this the creek meandered, here and there
winding round the foot of little pine-clad hills of unvarying red colour, whilst the earth from which they sprung was
covered with a carpet of verdure and vegetation of almost every imaginable hue. It was happiness to lie at ease upon
such a carpet and gaze upon such a scene, and it was happiness the more ecstatic to know that I was the first of a
civilised race of men who had ever beheld it. My visions of a former night really seemed to be prophetic. The trend of
the creek, and the valley down which it came, was about 25° south of west. We soon found it became contracted by
impinging hills. At ten miles from camp we found a pool of water in the bed. In about a couple of miles farther, to my
surprise I found we had reached its head and its source, which was the drainage of a big hill. There was no more water
and no rock-holes, neither was there any gorge. Some triodia grew on the hills, but none on the lower ground. The
valley now changed into a charming amphitheatre. We had thus traced our Birthday Creek, to its own birthplace. It has a
short course, but a merry one, and had ended for us at its proper beginning. As there appeared to be no water in the
amphitheatre, we returned to the pool we had seen in the creek. Several small branch creeks running through pretty
little valleys joined our creek to-day. We were now near some of the higher cones of the main chain, and could see that
they were all entirely timberless, and that triodia grew upon their sides. The spot we were now encamped upon was
another scene of exquisite sylvan beauty. We had now been a month in the field, as to-morrow was the 4th of September,
and I could certainly congratulate myself upon the result of my first month's labour.

The night was cold and windy, dense nimbus clouds hovered just above the mountain peaks, and threatened a heavy
downpour of rain, but the driving gale scattered them into the gelid regions of space, and after sunrise we had a
perfectly clear sky. I intended this morning to push through what seemed now, as it had always seemed from the first
moment I saw this range, a main gap through the chain. Going north round a pointed hill, we were soon in the trend of
the pass; in five miles we reached the banks of a new creek, running westerly into another, or else into a large
eucalyptus flat or swamp, which had no apparent outlet. This heavy timber could be seen for two or three miles.
Advancing still further, I soon discovered that we were upon the reedy banks of a fast flowing stream, whose murmuring
waters, ever rushing idly and unheeded on, were now for the first time disclosed to the delighted eyes of their
discoverer.

Here I had found a spot where Nature truly had

“Shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal, her brightest of green.”

This was really a delightful discovery. Everything was of the best kind here — timber, water, grass, and mountains.
In all my wanderings, over thousands of miles in Australia, I never saw a more delightful and fanciful region than
this, and one indeed where a white man might live and be happy. My dreams of a former night were of a verity
realised.

Geographically speaking, we had suddenly come almost upon the extreme head of a large water course. Its trend here
was nearly south, and I found it now ran through a long glen in that direction.

We saw several fine pools and ponds, where the reeds opened in the channel, and we flushed up and shot several lots
of ducks. This creek and glen I have named respectively the Ferdinand and Glen Ferdinand, after the Christian name of
Baron von Mueller. (The names having a star * against them in this book denote contributors to the fund raised by Baron
Mueller* for this expedition. — E.G.) The glen extended nearly five miles, and where it ended, the water ceased to show
upon the surface. At the end of the glen we encamped, and I do not remember any day's work during my life which gave me
more pleasure than this, for I trust it will be believed that:—

“The proud desire of sowing broad the germs of lasting worth

Shall challenge give to scornful laugh of careless sons of earth;

Though mirth deride, the pilgrim feet that tread the desert plain,

The thought that cheers me onward is, I have not lived in vain.”

After our dinner Mr. Tietkens and I ascended the highest mountain in the neighbourhood — several others not far away
were higher, but this was the most convenient. Water boiled at its summit at 204°, which gives an altitude above sea
level of 4131 feet, it being about 1500 feet above the surrounding country. I called this Mount Ferdinand, and another
higher point nearly west of it I called Mount James-Winter*. The view all round from west to north was shut out. To the
south and south-east other ranges existed. The timber of the Ferdinand could be traced for many miles in a southerly
direction; it finally became lost in the distance in a timbered if not a scrubby country. This mountain was highly
magnetic. I am surprised at seeing so few signs of natives in this region. We returned to the camp and sowed seeds of
many cereals, fodder plants, and vegetables. A great quantity of tea-tree grew in this glen. The water was pure and
fresh.

Two or three miles farther down, the creek passed between two hills; the configuration of the mountains now
compelled me to take a south-westerly valley for my road. In a few miles another fine creek-channel came out of the
range to the north of us, near the foot of Mount James-Winter; it soon joined a larger one, up which was plenty of
running water; this I called the Reid*. We were now traversing another very pretty valley running nearly west, with
fine cotton and salt-bush flats, while picturesque cypress pines covered the hills on both sides of us. Under some
hills which obstructed our course was another creek, where we encamped, the grass and herbage being most excellent; and
this also was a very pretty place. Our latitude here was 26° 24´.

Encounter with the Natives at “the Officer,” Musgrave Range.

Gibson went away on horseback this morning to find the others, but came back on foot to say he had lost the one he
started with. We eventually got them all, and proceeded down the creek south, then through a little gap west, on to the
banks of a fine large creek with excellent timber on it. The natives were burning the grass up the channel
north-westerly. Mr. Tietkens and I rode up in advance to reconnoitre; we went nearly three miles, when we came to
running water. At the same time we evidently disturbed a considerable number of natives, who raised a most frightful
outcry at our sudden and unexpected advent amongst them. Those nearest to us walked slowly into the reeds, rushes,
tea-trees, and high salt bushes, but deliberately watching our every movement. While watering our horses a great many
from the outskirts ran at us, poising and quivering their spears, some of which were over ten feet long; of these,
every individual had an extraordinary number. When they saw us sitting quietly, but not comfortably, on our horses,
which became very frightened and impatient, they renewed their horrible yells and gesticulations, some waving us away,
others climbing trees, and directing their spears at us from the branches. Another lot on the opposite side of the
creek now came rushing up with spears advanced and ensigns spread, and with their yells and cries encouraged those near
to spear us. They seemed, however, to have some doubts of the nature or vulnerability of our horses. At the head of our
new assailants was one sophisticated enough to be able to call out, “Walk, white fellow, walk;” but as we still
remained immobile, he induced some others to join in making a rush at us, and they hurled their jagged spears at us
before we could get out of the way. It was fortunate indeed that we were at the extreme distance that these weapons can
be projected, for they struck the ground right amongst our horses' hoofs, making them more restive than ever.

I now let our assailants see we were not quite so helpless as they might have supposed. I unslipped my rifle, and
the bullet, going so suddenly between two of these worthies and smashing some boughs just behind them, produced silence
amongst the whole congregation, at least for a moment. All this time we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Gibson
and Jimmy, as my instructions were that if we did not return in a given time, they were to follow after us. But these
valiant retainers, who admitted they heard the firing, preferred to remain out of harm's way, leaving us to kill or be
killed, as the fortunes of war might determine; and we at length had to retreat from our sable enemies, and go and find
our white friends. We got the mob of horses up, but the yelling of these fiends in human form, the clouds of smoke from
the burning grass and bushes, and the many disagreeable odours incident to a large native village, and the yapping and
howling of a lot of starving dogs, all combined to make us and our horses exceedingly restless. They seemed somewhat
overawed by the number of the horses, and though they crowded round from all directions, for there were more than 200
of them, the women and children being sent away over the hills at our first approach, they did not then throw any more
spears. I selected as open a piece of ground as I could get for the camp, which, however, was very small, back from the
water, and nearly under the foot of a hill. When they saw us dismount, for I believe they had previously believed
ourselves and our horses to form one animal, and begin to unload the horses, they proceeded properly to work themselves
up for a regular onslaught. So long as the horses remained close, they seemed disinclined to attack, but when they were
hobbled and went away, the enemy made a grand sortie, rushing down the hill at the back of the camp where they had
congregated, towards us in a body with spears fitted in pose and yelling their war cries.

Our lives were in imminent danger; we had out all the firearms we could muster; these amounted to two rifles, two
shot guns, and five revolvers. I watched with great keenness the motion of their arms that gives the propulsion to
their spears, and the instant I observed that, I ordered a discharge of the two rifles and one gun, as it was no use
waiting to be speared first. I delayed almost a second too long, for at the instant I gave the word several spears had
left the enemy's hands, and it was with great good fortune we avoided them. Our shots, as I had ordered, cut up the
ground at their feet, and sent the sand and gravel into their eyes and faces; this and the noise of the discharge made
the great body of them pause. Availing ourselves of this interval, we ran to attack them, firing our revolvers in quick
succession as we ran. This, with the noise and the to them extraordinary phenomenon of a projectile approaching them
which they could not see, drove them up into the hills from which they had approached us, and they were quiet for
nearly an hour, except for their unceasing howls and yells, during which time we made an attempt at getting some
dinner. That meal, however, was not completed when we saw them stealing down on us again. Again they came more than a
hundred strong, with heads held back, and arms at fullest tension to give their spears the greatest projective force,
when, just as they came within spear shot, for we knew the exact distance now, we gave them another volley, striking
the sand up just before their feet; again they halted, consulting one another by looks and signs, when the discharge of
Gibson's gun, with two long-distance cartridges, decided them, and they ran back, but only to come again. In
consequence of our not shooting any of them, they began to jeer and laugh at us, slapping their backsides at and
jumping about in front of us, and indecently daring and deriding us. These were evidently some of those lewd fellows of
the baser sort (Acts 17 5). We were at length compelled to send some rifle bullets into such close proximity to some of
their limbs that at last they really did believe we were dangerous folk after all. Towards night their attentions
ceased, and though they camped just on the opposite side of the creek, they did not trouble us any more. Of course we
kept a pretty sharp watch during the night. The men of this nation were tall, big, and exceedingly hirsute, and in
excellent bodily condition. They reminded me of, as no doubt they are, the prototypes of the account given by the
natives of the Charlotte Waters telegraph station, on my first expedition, who declared that out to the west were
tribes of wild blacks who were cannibals, who were covered with hair, and had long manes hanging down their backs.

None of these men, who perhaps were only the warriors of the tribe, were either old or grey-haired, and although
their features in general were not handsome, some of the younger ones' faces were prepossessing. Some of them wore the
chignon, and others long curls; the youngest ones who wore curls looked at a distance like women. A number were painted
with red ochre, and some were in full war costume, with feathered crowns and head dresses, armlets and anklets of
feathers, and having alternate stripes of red and white upon the upper portions of their bodies; the majority of course
were in undress uniform. I knew as soon as I arrived in this region that it must be well if not densely populated, for
it is next to impossible in Australia for an explorer to discover excellent and well-watered regions without coming
into deadly conflict with the aboriginal inhabitants. The aborigines are always the aggressors, but then the white man
is a trespasser in the first instance, which is a cause sufficient for any atrocity to be committed upon him. I named
this Encounter Creek The Officer.* There was a high mount to the north-east from here, which lay nearly west from Mount
James-Winter, which I called Mount Officer.*

Though there was a sound of revelry or devilry by night in the enemy's camp, ours was not passed in music, and we
could not therefore listen to the low harmonics that undertone sweet music's roll. Gibson got one of the horses which
was in sight, to go and find the others, while Mr. Tietkens took Jimmy with him to the top of a hill in order to take
some bearings for me, while I remained at the camp. No sooner did the natives see me alone than they recommenced their
malpractices. I had my arsenal in pretty good fighting order, and determined, if they persisted in attacking me, to let
some of them know the consequences. I was afraid that some might spear me from behind while others engaged me in front.
I therefore had to be doubly on the alert. A mob of them came, and I fired in the air, then on the ground, at one side
of them and then at the other. At last they fell back, and when the others and the horses appeared, though they kept
close round us, watching every movement, yelling perpetually, they desisted from further attack. I was very gratified
to think afterwards that no blood had been shed, and that we had got rid of our enemies with only the loss of a little
ammunition. Although this was Sunday, I did not feel quite so safe as if I were in a church or chapel, and I determined
not to remain. The horses were frightened at the incessant and discordant yells and shrieks of these fiends, and our
ears also were perfectly deafened with their outcries.

We departed, leaving the aboriginal owners of this splendid piece of land in the peaceful possession of their
beautiful hunting grounds, and travelled west through a small gap into a fine valley. The main range continued
stretching away north of us in high and heavy masses of hills, and with a fine open country to the south. At ten miles
we came to another fine creek, where I found water running; this I called the Currie*. It was late when, in six miles
further, we reached another creek, where we got water and a delightful camp. I called this the Levinger*. The country
to-day was excellent, being fine open, grassy valleys all the way; all along our route in this range we saw great
quantities of white snail-shells, in heaps, at old native encampments, and generally close to their fireplaces. In
crevices and under rocks we found plenty of the living snails, large and brown; it was evident the natives cook and eat
them, the shells turning white in the fire, also by exposure to the sun. On starting again we travelled about
west-north-west, and we passed through a piece of timbered country; at twelve miles we arrived at another fine
watercourse. The horses were almost unmanageable with flashness, running about with their mouths full of the rich
herbage, kicking up their heels and biting at one another, in a perfect state of horse-play. It was almost laughable to
see them, with such heavy packs on their backs, attempting such elephantine gambols; so I kept them going, to steady
them a bit. The creek here I called Winter* Water. At five miles farther we passed a very high mountain in the range,
which appeared the highest I had seen; I named it Mount Davenport. We next passed through a small gap, over a low hill,
and immediately on our appearance we heard the yells and outcries of natives down on a small flat below. All we saw,
however, was a small, and I hope happy, family, consisting of two men, one woman, and another youthful individual, but
whether male or female I was not sufficiently near to determine. When they saw us descend from the little hill, they
very quickly walked away, like respectable people. Continuing our course in nearly the same direction, west-north-west,
and passing two little creeks, I climbed a small hill and saw a most beautiful valley about a mile away, stretching
north-west, with eucalyptus or gum timber up at the head of it. The valley appeared entirely enclosed by hills, and was
a most enticing sight. Travelling on through 200 or 300 yards of mulga, we came out on the open ground, which was
really a sight that would delight the eyes of a traveller, even in the Province of Cashmere or any other region of the
earth. The ground was covered with a rich carpet of grass and herbage; conspicuous amongst the latter was an abundance
of the little purple vetch, which, spreading over thousands of acres of ground, gave a lovely pink or magenta tinge to
the whole scene. I also saw that there was another valley running nearly north, with another creek meandering through
it, apparently joining the one first seen.

The Fairies' Glen.

Passing across this fairy space, I noticed the whitish appearances that usually accompany springs and flood-marks in
this region. We soon reached a most splendid kind of stone trough, under a little stony bank, which formed an excellent
spring, running into and filling the little trough, running out at the lower end, disappearing below the surface,
evidently perfectly satisfied with the duties it had to perform.

This was really the most delightful spot I ever saw; a region like a garden, with springs of the purest water
spouting out of the ground, ever flowing into a charming little basin a hundred yards long by twenty feet wide and four
feet deep. There was a quantity of the tea-tree bush growing along the various channels, which all contained running
water.

The valley is surrounded by picturesque hills, and I am certain it is the most charming and romantic spot I ever
shall behold. I immediately christened it the Fairies' Glen, for it had all the characteristics to my mind of
fairyland. Here we encamped. I would not have missed finding such a spot, upon — I will not say what consideration.
Here also of course we saw numbers of both ancient and modern native huts, and this is no doubt an old-established and
favourite camping ground. And how could it be otherwise? No creatures of the human race could view these scenes with
apathy or dislike, nor would any sentient beings part with such a patrimony at any price but that of their blood. But
the great Designer of the universe, in the long past periods of creation, permitted a fiat to be recorded, that the
beings whom it was His pleasure in the first instance to place amidst these lovely scenes, must eventually be swept
from the face of the earth by others more intellectual, more dearly beloved and gifted than they. Progressive
improvement is undoubtedly the order of creation, and we perhaps in our turn may be as ruthlessly driven from the earth
by another race of yet unknown beings, of an order infinitely higher, infinitely more beloved, than we. On me,
perchance, the eternal obloquy of the execution of God's doom may rest, for being the first to lead the way, with
prying eye and trespassing foot, into regions so fair and so remote; but being guiltless alike in act or intention to
shed the blood of any human creature, I must accept it without a sigh.

The night here was cold, the mercury at daylight being down to 24°, and there was ice on the water or tea left in
the pannikins or billies overnight.

This place was so charming that I could not tear myself away. Mr. Tietkens and I walked to and climbed up a high
mount, about three miles north-easterly from camp; it was of some elevation. We ascended by a gorge having eucalyptus
and callitris pines halfway up. We found water running from one little basin to another, and high up, near the summit,
was a bare rock over which water was gushing. To us, as we climbed towards it, it appeared like a monstrous diamond
hung in mid-air, flashing back the rays of the morning sun. I called this Mount Oberon, after Shakespeare's King of the
Fairies. The view from its summit was limited. To the west the hills of this chain still run on; to the east I could
see Mount Ferdinand. The valley in which the camp and water was situate lay in all its loveliness at our feet, and the
little natural trough in its centre, now reduced in size by distance, looked like a silver thread, or, indeed, it
appeared more as though Titania, the Queen of the Fairies, had for a moment laid her magic silver wand upon the grass,
and was reposing in the sunlight among the herbage and the flowers. The day was lovely, the sky serene and clear, and a
gentle zephyr-like breeze merely agitated the atmosphere. As we sat gazing over this delightful scene, and having found
also so many lovely spots in this chain of mountains, I was tempted to believe I had discovered regions which might
eventually support, not only flocks and herds, but which would become the centres of population also, each individual
amongst whom would envy me us being the first discoverer of the scenes it so delighted them to view. For here
were:—

“Long dreamy lawns, and birds on happy wings

Keeping their homes in never-rifled bowers;

Cool fountains filling with their murmuring

The sunny silence 'twixt the charming hours.”

In the afternoon we returned to the camp, and again and again wondered at the singular manner in which the water
existed here. Five hundred yards above or below there is no sign of water, but in that intermediate space a stream
gushes out of the ground, fills a splendid little trough, and gushes into the ground again: emblematic indeed of the
ephemeral existence of humanity — we rise out of the dust, flash for a brief moment in the light of life, and in
another we are gone. We planted seeds here; I called it Titania's Spring, the watercourse in which it exists I called
Moffatt's* Creek.

The night was totally different from the former, the mercury not falling below 66°. The horses upon being brought up
to the camp this morning on foot, displayed such abominable liveliness and flashness, that there was no catching them.
One colt, Blackie, who was the leader of the riot, I just managed at length to catch, and then we had to drive the
others several times round the camp at a gallop, before their exuberance had in a measure subsided. It seemed, indeed,
as if the fairies had been bewitching them during the night. It was late when we left the lovely spot. A pretty valley
running north-west, with a creek in it, was our next road; our track wound about through the most splendidly grassed
valleys, mostly having a trend westerly. At twelve miles we saw the gum timber of a watercourse, apparently debouching
through a glen. Of course there was water, and a channel filled with reeds, down which the current ran in never-failing
streams. This spot was another of those charming gems which exist in such numbers in this chain. This was another of
those “secret nooks in a pleasant land, by the frolic fairies planned.” I called the place Glen Watson*. From a hill
near I discovered that this chain had now become broken, and though it continues to run on still farther west, it
seemed as though it would shortly end. The Mount Olga of my former expedition was now in view, and bore north 17° west,
a considerable distance away. I was most anxious to visit it. On my former journey I had made many endeavours to reach
it, but was prevented; now, however, I hoped no obstacle would occur, and I shall travel towards it to-morrow. There
was more than a mile of running water here, the horses were up to their eyes in the most luxuriant vegetation, and our
encampment was again in a most romantic spot. Ah! why should regions so lovely be traversed so soon? This chain of
mountains is called the Musgrave Range. A heavy dew fell last night, produced, I imagine, by the moisture in the glen,
and not by extraneous atmospheric causes, as we have had none for some nights previously.

We left this pretty glen with its purling stream and reedy bed, and entered very shortly upon an entirely different
country, covered with porcupine grass. We went north-west to some ridges at seventeen miles, where there was excellent
vegetation, but no water. I noticed to-day for the first time upon this expedition some of the desert oak trees
(Casuarina Decaisneana). Nine miles farther we reached a round hill, from which Mount Olga bore north. We were still a
considerable distance away, and as I did not know of any water existing at Mount Olga, I was anxious to find some, for
the horses had none where we encamped last night. From this hill I could also see that the Musgrave chain still ran on
to the west; though broken and parted in masses, it rose again into high mounts and points. This continuation is called
the Mann Range. Near the foot of the round hill I saw a small flat piece of rock, barely perceptible among the grass;
on it was an old native fireplace and a few dead sticks. On inspection there proved to be two fine little holes or
basins in the solid rock, with ample water for all my horses. Scrub and triodia existed in the neighbourhood, and the
feed was very poor. These were called Fraser's Wells. Mount Olga was still fifty miles away. We now pushed on for it
over some stony and some scrubby country, and had to camp without water and with wretched feed for the horses.
Casuarina trees were often passed. We generally managed to get away early from a bad camp, and by the middle of the
next day we arrived at the foot of Mount Olga. Here I perceived the marks of a wagon and horses, and camel tracks;
these I knew at once to be those of Gosse's expedition. Gosse had come down south through the regions, and to the
watering places which I discovered in my former journey. He had evidently gone south to the Mann range, and I expected
soon to overtake him. I had now travelled four hundred miles to reach this mount, which, when I first saw it, was only
seventy-five or eighty miles distant.

The appearance of this mountain is marvellous in the extreme, and baffles an accurate description. I shall refer to
it again, and may remark here that it is formed of several vast and solid, huge, and rounded blocks of bare red
conglomerate stones, being composed of untold masses of rounded stones of all kinds and sizes, mixed like plums in a
pudding, and set in vast and rounded shapes upon the ground. Water was running from the base, down a stony channel,
filling several rocky basins. The water disappeared in the sandy bed of the creek, where the solid rock ended. We saw
several quandongs, or native peach-trees, and some native poplars on our march to-day. I made an attempt to climb a
portion of this singular mound, but the sides were too perpendicular; I could only get up about 800 or 900 feet, on the
front or lesser mound; but without kites and ropes, or projectiles, or wings, or balloons, the main summit is
unscaleable. The quandong fruit here was splendid — we dried a quantity in the sun. Some very beautiful black and gold,
butterflies, with very large wings, were seen here and collected. The thermometer to-day was 95° in the shade. We
enjoyed a most luxurious bath in the rocky basins. We moved the camp to softer ground, where there was a well-grassed
flat a mile and a half away. To the east was a high and solitary mound, mentioned in my first journal as ranges to the
east of Mount Olga, and apparently lying north and south; this is called Ayers' Rock; I shall have to speak of it
farther on. To the west-south-west were some pointed ridges, with the long extent of the Mann Ranges lying east and
west, far beyond them to the south.

The appearance of Mount Olga from this camp is truly wonderful; it displayed to our astonished eyes rounded
minarets, giant cupolas, and monstrous domes. There they have stood as huge memorials of the ancient times of earth,
for ages, countless eons of ages, since its creation first had birth. The rocks are smoothed with the attrition of the
alchemy of years. Time, the old, the dim magician, has ineffectually laboured here, although with all the powers of
ocean at his command; Mount Olga has remained as it was born; doubtless by the agency of submarine commotion of former
days, beyond even the epoch of far-back history's phantom dream. From this encampment I can only liken Mount Olga to
several enormous rotund or rather elliptical shapes of rouge mange, which had been placed beside one another by some
extraordinary freak or convulsion of Nature. I found two other running brooks, one on the west and one on the north
side. My first encampment was on the south. The position of this extraordinary feature is in latitude 25° 20´ and
longitude 130° 57´.

Leaving the mountain, we next traversed a region of sandy soil, rising into sandhills, with patches of level ground
between. There were casuarinas and triodia in profusion — two different kinds of vegetation which appear to thoroughly
enjoy one another's company. We went to the hills south south-westerly, and had a waterless camp in the porcupine,
triodia, spinifex, Festuca irritans, and everything-else-abominable, grass; 95° in shade. At about thirty-two miles
from Mount Olga we came to the foot of the hills, and I found a small supply of water by digging; but at daylight next
morning there was not sufficient for half the horses, so I rode away to look for more; this I found in a channel coming
from a sugar-loaf or high-peaked hill. It was a terribly rough and rocky place, and it was too late to get the animals
up to the ledges where the water was, and they had to wait till next day.

From here I decided to steer for a notch in the Mann Range, nearly south-west. The country consisted chiefly of
sandhills, with casuarina and flats with triodia. We could get no water by night. I collected a great quantity of
various plants and flowers along all the way I had come in fact, but just about Mount Olga I fancied I had discovered
several new species. To-day we passed through some mallee, and gathered quandongs or native peach, which, with sugar,
makes excellent jam; we also saw currajongs and native poplars. We now turned to some ridges a few miles nearer than
the main range, and dug a tank, for the horses badly wanted water. A very small quantity drained in, and the animals
had to go a second night unwatered. It was now the 22nd of September, and I had hoped to have some rain at the equinox,
but none had yet fallen. The last two days have been very warm and oppressive. The country round these ridges was very
good, and plenty of the little purple vetch grew here. The tank in the morning was quite full; it however watered only
seventeen horses, but by twelve o'clock all were satisfied, and we left the tank for the benefit of those whom it might
concern.

Zoe's Glen.

We were steering for an enticing-looking glen between two high hills about south-south-west. We passed over
sandhills, through scrubs, and eventually on to open ground. At two or three miles from the new range we crossed a kind
of dry swamp or water flat, being the end of a gum creek. A creek was seen to issue from the glen as we approached, and
at twelve miles from our last camp we came upon running water in the three channels which existed. The day was warm,
94°. The water was slightly brackish. Heat and cold are evidently relative perceptions, for this morning, although the
thermometer stood at 58°, I felt the atmosphere exceedingly cold. We took a walk up the glen whence the creek flows,
and on to some hills which environ it. The water was rushing rapidly down the glen; we found several fine rock-basins —
one in particular was nine or ten feet deep, the pellucid element descending into it from a small cascade of the rocks
above; this was the largest sheet of water per se I had yet discovered upon this expedition. It formed a most
picturesque and delightful bath, and as we plunged into its transparent depths we revelled, as it were, in an almost
newly discovered element. I called this charming spot Zoe's Glen. In our wanderings up the glen we had found books in
the running brooks, and sermons in stones. The latitude of this pretty little retreat was 25° 59´. I rode a mile or two
to the east to inspect another creek; its bed was larger than ours, and water was running down its channel. I called it
Christy Bagot's Creek. I flushed up a lot of ducks, but had no gun. On my return Gibson and Jimmy took the guns, and
walked over on a shooting excursion; only three ducks were shot; of these we made an excellent stew. A strong gale of
warm wind blew from the south all night. Leaving Zoe's Glen, we travelled along the foot of the range to the south of
us; at six or seven miles I observed a kind of valley dividing this range running south, and turned down into it. It
was at first scrubby, then opened out. At four miles Mr. Tietkens and I mounted a rocky rise, and he, being ahead,
first saw and informed me that there was a lake below us, two or three miles away. I was very much gratified to see it,
and we immediately proceeded towards it. The valley or pass had now become somewhat choked with low pine-clad stony
hills, and we next came upon a running creek with some fine little sheets of water; it meandered round the piny hills
and exhausted itself upon the bosom of the lake. I called these the Hector Springs and Hector Pass after Hector
Wilson*. On arrival at the lake I found its waters were slightly brackish; there was no timber on its shores; it lay
close under the foot of the mountains, having their rocky slopes for its northern bank. The opposite shore was sandy;
numerous ducks and other water-fowl were floating on its breast. Several springs from the ranges ran into its northern
shore, and on its eastern side a large creek ran in, though its timber did not grow all the way. The water was now
eight or nine miles round; it was of an oblong form, whose greatest length is east and west. When quite full this basin
must be at least twenty miles in circumference; I named this fine sheet of water Lake Wilson*. The position of this
lake I made out to be in longitude 129° 52´. A disagreeable warm wind blew all day.

The morning was oppressive, the warm south wind still blowing. We left Lake Wilson, named after Sir Samuel, who was
the largest contributor to this expedition fund, in its wildness, its loneliness, and its beauty, at the foot of its
native mountains, and went away to some low hills south-south-west, where in nine miles we got some water in a channel
I called Stevenson's* Creek. In a few miles further we found ourselves in a kind of glen where water bubbled up from
the ground below. The channel had become filled with reeds, and great quantities of enormous milk or sow thistle
(Sonchus oleraceous). Some of the horses got bogged in this ravine, which caused considerable delay. Eventually it
brought us out into a most beautiful amphitheatre, into which several creeks descended. This open space was covered
with the richest carpet of verdure, and was a most enchanting spot. It was nearly three miles across; we went over to
its southern side, and camped under the hills which fenced it there, and among them we obtained a supply of water. The
grass and herbage here were magnificent. The only opening to this beautiful oval was some distance to the east; we
therefore climbed over the hills to the south to get away, and came upon another fine valley running westward, with a
continuous line of hills running parallel to it on the north. We made a meandering course, in a south-westerly
direction, for about fifteen miles, when the hills became low and isolated, and gave but a poor look out for water.
Other hills in a more continuous line bore to the north of west, to which we went. In three miles after this we came to
a valley with a green swamp in the middle; it was too boggy to allow horses to approach. A round hill in another valley
was reached late, and here our pack-horses, being driven in a mob in front of us, put their noses to the ground and
seemed to have smelt something unusual, which proved to be Mr. Gosse's dray track. Our horses were smelling the scent
of his camels from afar. The dray track was now comparatively fresh, and I had motives for following it. It was so late
we had to encamp without finding the water, which I was quite sure was not far from us, and we turned out our horses
hoping they might discover it in the night.

I went to sleep that night dreaming how I had met Mr. Gosse in this wilderness, and produced a parody upon ‘How I
found Livingstone.’ We travelled nearly thirty miles to-day upon all courses, the country passed over being principally
very fine valleys, richly clothed with grass and almost every other kind of valuable herbage. Yesterday, the 28th of
September, was rather a warm day; I speak by the card, for at ten o'clock at night Herr Gabriel Daniel Fahrenheit had
not condescended to fall below 82°. The horses found water in the night, and in the morning looked sleek and full. I
intended now, as I said before, to follow Gosse's dray track, for I knew he could not be very far in advance.

We followed the track a mile, when it turned suddenly to the south-west, down a valley with a creek in it that lay
in that direction. But as a more leading one ran also in a more westerly direction, I left the dray track almost at
right angles, and proceeded along the more westerly line. The valley I now traversed became somewhat scrubby with
mallee and triodia. In seven or eight miles we got into much better country, lightly timbered with mulga and splendidly
grassed. Here also were some cotton and salt bush flats. To my English reader I may say that these shrubs, or plants,
or bushes are the most valuable fodder plants for stock known in Australia; they are varieties of the Atriplex family
of plants, and whenever I can record meeting them, I do it with the greatest satisfaction. At twelve miles the hills to
our north receded, and there lay stretched out before us a most beautiful plain, level as a billiard table and green as
an emerald. Viewing it from the top of a hill, I could not help thinking what a glorious spot this would make for the
display of cavalry manoeuvres. In my mental eye I could see

“The rush of squadrons sweeping,

Like whirlwinds o'er the plain;”

and mentally hear

“The shouting of the slayers,

The screeching of the slain.”

I called this splendid circle the Champ de Mars; it is, I dare say, fifteen or sixteen miles round. The hills on the
northern side were much higher than those near us, and appeared more inviting for water; so we rode across the circle
to them. In a kind of gully between the hills, at four and a half miles, I found a rock-hole full of water in a triodia
creek; it was seven or eight feet deep, and almost hidden amongst rocks and scrubs. The water drained into the hole
from above. By the time my horses were all satisfied they had lowered it very considerably, and I did not think there
would be a drink for them all in the morning; but when we took them up next day I found the rocky basin had been
replenished during the night.

A valley led away from here, along the foot of the northern hills, almost west. At five miles we crossed the channel
of a fine little creek, coming from thence; it had several sheets of water with rocky banks, and there were numerous
ducks on the waters. The timber upon this creek was mostly blood-wood or red gum; the blood-wood has now almost
entirely supplanted the other eucalypts. There was another tree of a very peculiar leaf which I have often met before,
but only as a bush; here it had assumed the proportions of a tree. This was one of the desert acacias, but which of
them I could not tell. Farther on were several bare red hills, festooned with cypress pines, which always give a most
pleasing tone to any Australian view. These I called Harriet's Springs. The creek meandered away down the valley
amongst pine-clad hills to the south-westward, and appeared to increase in size below where we crossed it.

I ascended a hill and saw that the two lines of hills encircling the Champ de Mars had now entirely separated, the
space between becoming gradually broader.

A pointed hill at the far end of the southern line bore west, and we started away for it. We continued on this west
course for fifteen or sixteen miles, having the southern hills very close to our line of march. Having travelled some
twenty miles, I turned up a blind gully or water-channel in a small triodia valley, and found some water lying about
amongst the grass. The herbage here was splendid. Ants and burrs were very annoying, however; we have been afflicted
with both of these animal and vegetable annoyances upon many occasions all through these regions. There was a high,
black-looking mountain with a conical summit, in the northern line of ranges, which bore north-westward from here. I
named it Mount Aloysius, after the Christian name of Sir A.F. Weld, Governor of Western Australia. We had entered the
territory of the Colony of Western Australia on the last day of September; the boundary between it and South Australia
being the 129th meridian of east longitude. The latitude by stars of this camp was 26° 9´. Leaving it early, we
continued upon the same line as yesterday, and towards the same hill, which we reached in five miles, and ascended. It
was nearly the most westerly point of the line of hills we had been following. The summit of this hill I found to
consist of great masses of rifted stone, which were either solid iron or stone coated thickly with it. The blocks rang
with the sound of my iron-shod boots, while moving over them, with such a musical intonation and bell-like clang, that
I called this the Bell Rock. Mount Aloysius bore north 9° west, distant about ten miles; here I saw it was quite an
isolated range, as, at its eastern and western extremities, open spaces could be seen between it and any other
hills.

We had now been travelling along the northern foot of the more southerly of the two lines of hills which separated,
at the west end of the Champ de Mars; and on reaching the Bell Rock, this southern line ceased, while the northern one
still ran on, though at diminished elevation, and we now travelled towards two hills standing together about
west-north-west. On reaching them, in thirteen miles, I found a native encampment; there were several old and new bough
gunyahs, and the fires were alight at the doors? of many of them. We could not see the people because they hid
themselves, but I knew quite well they were watching us close by. There was a large bare slab of rock, in which existed
two fine cisterns several feet in depth, one much longer than the other, the small one containing quite a sufficient
supply for all my horses. I called these Hogarth's Wells, and the two hills Mount Marie and Mount Jeanie. I was
compelled to leave one of these receptacles empty, which for ages the simple inhabitants of these regions had probably
never seen dry before. Some hills lay south-westerly, and we reached them in nine miles; they were waterless. Southward
the country appeared all scrub. The western horizon was broken by ranges with some high points amongst them; they were
a long way off. To the west-north-west some bald ranges also ran on. I made across to them, steering for a fall or
broken gap to the north-north-west. This was a kind of glen, and I found a watercourse in it, with a great quantity of
tea-tree, which completely choked up the passage with good-sized trees, whose limbs and branches were so interwoven
that they prevented any animal larger than a man from approaching the water, bubbling along at their feet. We had to
chop a passage to it for our horses. The hills were quite destitute of timber, and were composed of huge masses of
rifted granite, which could only have been so riven by seismatic action, which at one time must have been exceedingly
frequent in this region.

I may mention that, from the western half of the Musgrave Range, all the Mann, the Tomkinson, and other ranges
westward have been shivered into fragments by volcanic force. Most of the higher points of all the former and latter
consist of frowning masses of black-looking or intensely red ironstone, or granite thickly coated with iron. Triodia
grows as far up the sides of the hills as it is possible to obtain any soil; but even this infernal grass cannot exist
on solid rock; therefore all the summits of these hills are bare. These shivered masses of stone have large interstices
amongst them, which are the homes, dens, or resorts of swarms of a peculiar marsupial known as the rock wallaby, which
come down on to the lower grounds at night to feed. If they expose themselves in the day, they are the prey of
aborigines and eagles, if at night, they fall victims to wild dogs or dingoes. The rocks frequently change their
contours from earthquake shocks, and great numbers of these creatures are crushed and smashed by the trembling rocks,
so that these unfortunate creatures, beset by so many dangers, exist always in a chronic state of fear and anxiety, and
almost perpetual motion. These hills also have the metallic clang of the Bell Rock, and are highly magnetic. In the
scrubs to-day Gibson found a Lowan's or scrub pheasant's nest. These birds inhabit the most waterless regions and the
densest scrubs, and live entirely without water.

This bird is figured in Gould's work on Australian ornithology; it is called the Leipoa ocellata. Two specimens of
these birds are preserved in the Natural History Department of the British Museum at Kensington. We obtained six fresh
eggs from it. I found another, and got five more. We saw several native huts in the scrubs, some of them of large
dimensions, having limbs of the largest trees they could get to build them with. When living here, the natives probably
obtain water from roots of the mulga. This must be the case, for we often see small circular pits dug at the foot of
some of these trees, which, however, generally die after the operation of tapping. I called the spot Glen Osborne*; we
rested here a day. We always have a great deal of sewing and repairing of the canvas pack-bags to do, and a day of rest
usually means a good day's work; it rests the horses, however, and that is the main thing. Saturday night, the 4th
October, was a delightfully cool one, and on Sunday we started for some hills in a south-westerly direction, passing
some low ridges. We reached the higher ones in twenty-two miles. Nearing them, we passed over some fine cotton-bush
flats, so-called from bearing a small cotton-like pod, and immediately at the hills we camped on a piece of plain, very
beautifully grassed, and at times liable to inundation. It was late when we arrived; no water could be found; but the
day was cool, and the night promised to be so too; and as I felt sure I should get water in these hills in the morning,
I was not very anxious on account of the horses. These hills are similar to those lately described, being greatly
impregnated with iron and having vast upheavals of iron-coated granite, broken and lying in masses of black and pointed
rock, upon all their summits. Their sides sloped somewhat abruptly, they were all highly magnetic, and had the
appearance of frowning, rough-faced, bastion walls. Very early I climbed up the hills, and from the top I saw the place
that was afterwards to be our refuge, though it was a dangerous one. This is called the Cavanagh Range, but as, in
speaking of it as my depot, it was called Fort Mueller*, I shall always refer to it by that name. What I saw was a
strong running stream in a confined rocky, scrubby glen, and smokes from natives' fires. When bringing the horses, we
had to go over less difficult ground than I had climbed, and on the road we found another stream in another valley,
watered the horses, and did not then go to my first find. There was fine open, grassy country all round this range; we
followed the creek down from the hills to it. On reaching the lower grassy ground, we saw Mr. Gosse's dray-track again,
and I was not surprised to see that the wagon had returned upon its outgoing track, and the party were now returning
eastwards to South Australia. I had for some days anticipated meeting him; but now he was going east, and I west, I did
not follow back after him. Shortly afterwards, rounding the spurs of these hills, we came to the channel of the Fort
Mueller creek, which I had found this morning, and though there was no surface-water, we easily obtained some by
digging in the sandy creek-bed. A peculiarity of the whole of this region is, that water cannot exist far from the
rocky foundations of the hills; the instant the valleys open and any soil appears, down sinks the water, though a fine
stream may be running only a few yards above. Blankets were again required for the last two nights. I found my position
here to be in latitude 26° 12´, longitude 127° 59´ 0´´.

Leaving this encampment, we struck away for a new line of ranges. The country was very peculiar, and different from
any we had yet met; it was open, covered with tall triodia, and consisted almost entirely of limestone. At intervals,
eucalyptus-trees of the mallee kind, and a few of the pretty-looking bloodwood-trees and some native poplars were seen;
there was no grass for several miles, and we only found some poor dry stuff for the horses in a patch of scrub, the
ground all round being stony and triodia-set. To-day we came upon three Lowans' or native pheasants' nests. These
birds, which somewhat resemble guinea-fowl in appearance, build extraordinarily large nests of sand, in which they
deposit small sticks and leaves; here the female lays about a dozen eggs, the decomposition of the vegetable matter
providing the warmth necessary to hatch them. These nests are found only in thick scrubs. I have known them five to six
feet high, of a circular conical shape, and a hundred feet round the base. The first, though of enormous size, produced
only two eggs; the second, four, and the third, six. We thanked Providence for supplying us with such luxuries in such
a wilderness. There are much easier feats to perform than the carrying of Lowans' eggs, and for the benefit of any
readers who don't know what those eggs are like, I may mention that they are larger than a goose egg, and of a more
delicious flavour than any other egg in the world. Their shell is beautifully pink tinted, and so terribly fragile
that, if a person is not careful in lifting them, the fingers will crunch through the tinted shell in an instant.
Therefore, carrying a dozen of such eggs is no easy matter. I took upon myself the responsibility of bringing our prize
safe into camp, and I accomplished the task by packing them in grass, tied up in a handkerchief, and slung round my
neck; a fine fardel hanging on my chest, immediately under my chin. A photograph of a person with such an appendage
would scarcely lead to recognition. We used some of the eggs in our tea as a substitute for milk. A few of the eggs
proved to possess some slight germs of vitality, the preliminary process being the formation of eyes. But explorers in
the field are not such particular mortals as to stand upon such trifles; indeed, parboiled, youthful, Lowans' eyes are
considered quite a delicacy in the camp.

At early dawn there was brilliant lightning to the west, and the horizon in that direction became cloudy. Thunder
also was heard, but whatever storm there might have been, passed away to the south of us. In the course of a few miles
we left the limestone behind, and sandhills again came on. We went over two low ridges, and five or six miles of scrub
brought us to the hills we were steering for. Some pine-clad bare rocks induced us to visit them to see if there were
rock-holes anywhere. Mr. Tietkens found a native well under one of the rocks, but no water was seen in it, so we went
to the higher hills, and in a gully found but a poor supply. There was every appearance of approaching rain, and we got
everything under canvas, but in the night of the 9th October a heavy gale of wind sprang up and blew away any rain that
might have fallen. As, however, it was still cloudy, we remained in camp.

From the highest hill here, called Mount Squires, the appearance of the country surrounding was most strange. To the
west, and round by north-west to north, was a mass of broken timbered hills with scrubby belts between. The atmosphere
was too hazy to allow of distinct vision, but I could distinguish lines of hills, if not ranges, to the westward for a
long distance. The view was by no means encouraging, but as hills run on, though entirely different now from those
behind us, our only hope is that water may yet be discovered in them. The whole region round about was enveloped in
scrubs, and the hills were not much more than visible above them.

The sky had remained cloudy all yesterday, and I hoped, if the wind would only cease, rain would surely fall; so we
waited and hoped against hope. We had powerful reverberations of thunder, and forked and vivid lightnings played
around, but no rain fell, although the atmosphere was surcharged with electricity and moisture. The wished-for rain
departed to some far more favoured places, some happier shores from these remote; and as if to mock our wishes, on the
following morning we had nearly three minutes' sprinkling of rain, and then the sky became clear and bright.

By this time we had used up all the water we could find, and had to go somewhere else to get more. A terrible piece
of next-to-impassable scrub, four or five miles through, lay right in our path; it also rose and fell into ridges and
gullies in it. We saw one of the Mus conditor, or building rats' nests, which is not the first we have seen by many on
this expedition. The scrub being so dense, it was impossible to see more than two or three of the horses at a time, and
three different times some of them got away and tried to give us the slip; this caused a great deal of anxiety and
trouble, besides loss of time. Shortly after emerging from the scrubs, we struck a small creek with one or two gumtrees
on it; a native well was in the bed, and we managed to get water enough for the horses, we having only travelled six
miles straight all day. This was a very good, if not actually a pretty, encampment; there was a narrow strip of open
ground along the banks, and good vegetation for the horses. We slept upon the sandy bed of the creek to escape the
terrible quantities of burrs which grew all over these wilds.

We steered away nearly west for the highest hills we had seen yesterday; there appeared a fall or gap between two;
the scrubs were very thick to-day, as was seen by the state of our pack-bags, an infallible test, when we stopped for
the night, during the greater part of which we had to repair the bags. We could not find any water, and we seemed to be
getting into very desolate places. A densely scrubby and stony gully was before us, which we had to get through or up,
and on reaching the top I was disappointed to find that, though there was an open valley below, the hills all round
seemed too much disconnected to form any good watering places. Descending, and leaving Gibson and Jimmy with the
horses, Mr. Tietkens and I rode in different directions in search of water. In about two hours we met, in the only
likely spot either of us had seen; this was a little watercourse, and following it up to the foot of the hills found a
most welcome and unexpectedly large pond for such a place. Above it in the rocks were a line of little basins which
contained water, with a rather pronounced odour of stagnation about it; above them again the water was running, but
there was a space between upon which no water was seen. We returned for the horses and camped as near as we could find
a convenient spot; this, however, was nearly a mile from the water. The valley ran north-east and south-west; it was
very narrow, not too open, and there was but poor grass and herbage, the greater portion of the vegetation being
spinifex. At eight o'clock at night a thunderstorm came over us from the west, and sprinkled us with a few drops of
rain; from west the storm travelled north-west, thence north to east and south, performing a perfect circle around;
reaching its original starting point in about an hour, it disappeared, going northerly again. The rest of the night was
beautifully calm and clear. Some of our horses required shoeing for the first time since we had left the telegraph
line, now over 600 miles behind us. From the top of a hill here the western horizon was bounded by low scrubby ridges,
with an odd one standing higher than the rest; to one of these I decided to go next. Some other hills lay a little more
to the south, but there was nothing to choose between them; hills also ran along eastward and north-eastwards. At eight
o'clock again to-night a thunderstorm came up from the westward; it sprinkled us with a few drops of rain, and then
became dispersed to the south and south-east.

The following day we passed in shoeing horses, mending pack-bags, restuffing pack-saddles, and general repairs.
While out after the horses Mr. Tietkens found another place with some water, about two miles southerly on the opposite
or west side of the valley. Finishing what work we had in hand, we remained here another day. I found that water boiled
in this valley at 209°, making the approximate altitude of this country 1534 above sea level. This we always called the
Shoeing Camp. We had remained there longer than at any other encampment since we started; we arrived on the 14th and
left on the 18th October.

Getting over a low fall in the hills opposite the camp, I turned on my proper course for another hill and travelled
fifteen miles; the first three being through very fine country, well grassed, having a good deal of salt bush, being
lightly timbered, and free from spinifex. The scrub and triodia very soon made their appearance together, and we were
forced to camp in a miserable place, there being neither grass nor water for the unfortunate horses.

The next morning we deviated from our course on seeing a bare-looking rocky hill to the right of our line of march;
we reached it in ten miles. Searching about, I found several small holes or cups worn into the solid rock; and as they
mostly contained water, the horses were unpacked, while a farther search was made. This hill was always after called
the Cups. I rode away to other hills westward, and found a fresh-looking creek, which emptied into a larger one; but I
could find nothing but brine and bitter water. For the first time on this journey I found at this creek great
quantities of that lovely flower, the desert pea, Clianthus Dampierii. The creek ran south-westward. I searched for
hours for water without success, and returned to the party at dusk. Mr. Tietkens had found some more water at another
hill; and he and Gibson took some of the horses over to it, leaving Jimmy alone.

Jimmy walked over to one cup we had reserved for our own use, to fill the tin-billy for tea. Walking along with his
eyes on the ground, and probably thinking of nothing at all, he reached the cup, and, to his horror and amazement,
discovered some thirty or forty aboriginals seated or standing round the spot. As he came close up to, but without
seeing them, they all yelled at him in chorus, eliciting from him a yell in return; then, letting fall the tin things
he was carrying, he fairly ran back to the camp, when he proceeded to get all the guns and rifles in readiness to shoot
the whole lot. But Mr. Tietkens and Gibson returning with the horses, having heard the yells, caused the natives to
decamp, and relieved poor Jimmy's mind of its load of care and fear. No doubt these Autocthones were dreadfully annoyed
to find their little reservoirs discovered by such water-swallowing wretches as they doubtless thought white men and
horses to be; I could only console myself with the reflection, that in such a region as this we must be prepared to lay
down our lives at any moment in our attempts to procure water, and we must take it when we find it at any price, as
life and water are synonymous terms. I dare say they know where to get more, but I don't. Some natives were prowling
about our encampment all the first half of the night, and my little dog kept up an incessant barking; but the rest was
silence.

We used every drop of water from every cup, and moved away for the bitter water I found yesterday. I thought to
sweeten it by opening the place with a shovel, and baling a lot of the stagnant water out; but it was irreclaimable,
and the horses could not drink it.

Mr. Tietkens returned after dark and reported he had found only one poor place, that might yield sufficient for one
drink for all the horses; and we moved down three miles. It was then a mile up in a little gully that ran into our
creek. Here we had to dig out a large tank, but the water drained in so slowly that only eight horses could be watered
by midday; at about three o'clock eight more were taken, and it was night before they were satisfied; and now the first
eight came up again for more, and all the poor wretches were standing in and around the tank in the morning. The next
day was spent in doling out a few quarts of water to each horse, while I spent the day in a fruitless search for the
fluid which evidently did not exist. Six weeks or two months ago there must have been plenty of water here, but now it
was gone; and had I been here at that time, I have no doubt I might have passed across to the Murchison; but now I must
retreat to the Shoeing Camp. When I got back at night, I found that not half the horses had received even their
miserable allowance of three quarts each, and the horse I had ridden far and fast all day could get none: this was poor
little W.A. of my first expedition. One little wretched cob horse was upon the last verge of existence; he was
evidently not well, and had been falling away to a shadow for some time; he was for ever hiding himself in the scrubs,
and caused as much trouble to look after him as all the others put together. He was nearly dead; water was of no use to
him, and his hide might be useful in repairing some packbags, and we might save our stores for a time by eating him; so
he was despatched from this scene of woe, but not without woeful cruelty; for Jimmy volunteered to shoot him, and
walked down the creek a few yards to where the poor little creature stood. The possibility of any one not putting a
bullet into the creature's forehead at once, never occurred to me; but immediately after we heard the shot, Jimmy came
sauntering up and said, “Oh! he wants another dose.” I jumped up and said, “Oh, you young —” No, I won't say what I
told Jimmy. Then Gibson offered to do it, and with a very similar result. With suaviter in modo, sed fortiter in re, I
informed him that I did not consider him a sufficiently crack shot to enable him to win a Wimbledon shield; and what
the deuce did he — but there, I had to shoot the poor miserable creature, who already had two rifle bullets in his
carcass, and I am sure with his last breath he thanked me for that quick relief. There was not sufficient flesh on his
bones to cure; but we got a quantity of what there was, and because we fried it we called it steak, and because we
called it steak we said we enjoyed it, though it was utterly tasteless. The hide was quite rotten and useless, being as
thin and flimsy as brown paper. It was impossible now to push farther out west, and a retreat to the Shoeing Camp had
to be made, though we could not reach it in a day. Thermometer while on this creek 99, and 100° in shade. This place
was always called the Cob.

We had great difficulty in driving the horses past the Cups, as the poor creatures having got water there once,
supposed it always existed there. Some of these little indents held only a few pints of water, others a few quarts, and
the largest only a few gallons. Early the second day we got back, but we had left so little water behind us, that we
found it nearly all gone. Six days having elapsed makes a wonderful difference in water that is already inclined to
depart with such evaporation as is always going on in this region. We now went to where Mr. Tietkens had found another
place, and he and Gibson took the shovel to open it out, while Jimmy and I unpacked the horses. Here Jimmy Andrews set
fire to the spinifex close to all our packs and saddles, and a strong hot wind blowing, soon placed all our belongings
in the most terrible jeopardy. The grass was dry and thick, and the fire raged around us in a terrific manner; guns and
rifles, riding- and pack-saddles were surrounded by flames in a moment. We ran and halloed and turned back, and
frantically threw anything we could catch hold of on to the ground already burnt. Upsetting a couple of packs, we got
the bags to dash out the flames, and it was only by the most desperate exertions we saved nearly everything. The
instant a thing was lifted, the grass under it seemed to catch fire spontaneously; I was on fire, Jimmy was on fire, my
brains were in a fiery, whirling blaze; and what with the heat, dust, smoke, ashes, and wind, I thought I must be
suddenly translated to Pandemonium. Our appearance also was most satanic, for we were both as black as demons.

There was no shade; we hadn't a drop of water; and without speaking a word, off we went up the gully to try and get
a drink; there was only just enough thick fluid for us, the horses standing disconsolately round. The day was hot, the
thermometer marked 105°. There was not sufficient water here for the horses, and I decided, as we had not actually dug
at our old camp, to return there and do so. This we did, and obtained a sufficiency at last. We were enabled to keep
the camp here for a few days, while Mr. Tietkens and I tried to find a more northerly route to the west. Leaving Gibson
and Jimmy behind, we took three horses and steered away for the north. Our route on this trip led us into the most
miserable country, dry ridges and spinifex, sandhills and scrubs, which rolled along in undulations of several miles
apart. We could get no water, and camped after a day's journey of forty miles.

Though the day had been very hot, the night became suddenly cool. In the morning of the 28th of October, at five
miles we arrived at a scrubby sand ridge, and obtained a most displeasing view of the country further north. The
surface seemed more depressed, but entirely filled up with dense scrubs, with another ridge similar to the one we were
on bounding the view; we reached it in about eight miles. The view we then got was precisely similar to that behind us,
except that the next undulation that bounded the horizon was fifteen to eighteen miles away. We had now come fifty-one
miles from the Shoeing Camp; there was no probability of getting water in such a region. To the west the horizon was
bounded by what appeared a perfectly flat and level line running northwards. This flat line to the west seemed not more
than twenty-five to thirty miles away; between us and it were a few low stony hills. Not liking the northern, I now
decided to push over to the western horizon, which looked so flat. I have said there were some stony hills in that
direction; we reached the first in twenty miles. The next was formed of nearly bare rock, where there were some old
native gunyahs. Searching about we found another of those extraordinary basins, holes, or cups washed out of the solid
rock by ancient ocean's force, ages before an all-seeing Providence placed His dusky children upon this scene, or even
before the waters had sufficiently subsided to permit either animal or man to exist here. From this singular cup we
obtained a sufficient supply of that fluid so terribly scarce in this region. We had to fill a canvas bucket with a
pint pot to water our horses, and we outspanned for the remainder of the day at this exceedingly welcome spot. There
were a few hundred acres of excellent grass land, and the horses did remarkably well during the night. The day had been
very hot; the thermometer in the shade at this rock stood at 106°.

This proved a most abominable camp; it swarmed with ants, and they kept biting us so continually, that we were in a
state of perpetual motion nearly all the time we were there. A few heat-drops of rain fell. I was not sorry to leave
the wretched place, which we left as dry as the surrounding void. We continued our west course over sandhills and
through scrub and spinifex. The low ridges of which the western horizon was formed, and which had formerly looked
perfectly flat, was reached in five miles; no other view could be got. A mile off was a slightly higher point, to which
we went; then the horizon, both north and west of the same nature, ran on as far as could be seen, without any other
object upon which to rest the eye. There were a few little gullies about, which we wasted an hour amongst in a
fruitless search for water. The Bitter Water Creek now lay south of us; I was not at all satisfied at our retreat from
it. I was anxious to find out where it went, for though we had spent several days in its neighbourhood, we had not
travelled more than eight or ten miles down it; we might still get a bucket or two of water for our three horses where
I had killed the little cob. We therefore turned south in hopes that we might get some satisfaction out of that region
at last. We were now, however, thirty-nine or forty miles from the water-place, and two more from the Cob. I was most
anxious on account of the water at the Shoeing Camp; it might have become quite exhausted by this time, and where on
earth would Gibson and Jimmy go? The thermometer again to-day stood at 106° in the shade.

It was late at night when we reached the Cob tank, and all the water that had accumulated since we left was scarcely
a bucketful.

Though the sky was quite overcast, and rain threatened to fall nearly all night, yet none whatever came. The three
horses were huddled up round the perfectly empty tank, having probably stood there all night. I determined to try down
the creek. One or two small branches enlarged the channel; and in six or seven miles we saw an old native well, which
we scratched out with our hands; but it was perfectly dry. At twelve miles another creek joined from some hills
easterly, and immediately below the junction the bed was filled with green rushes. The shovel was at the Shoeing Camp,
the bed was too stony to be dug into with our hands. Below this again another and larger creek joined from the east, or
rather our creek ran into it. There were some large holes in the new bed, but all were dry. We now followed up this new
channel eastwards, as our horses were very bad, and this was in the direction of the home camp. We searched everywhere,
up in hills and gullies, and down into the creek again, but all without success, and we had a waterless camp once more.
The horses were now terribly bad, they have had only the third of a bucket of water since Wednesday, it being now
Friday morning. We had still thirty miles to go to reach the camp, and it was late when the poor unfortunate creatures
dragged themselves into it. Fortunately the day had been remarkably cool, almost cold, the thermometer only rose to 80°
in the shade. The water had held out well, and it still drained into the tank.

On the following morning, the 1st November, the thermometer actually descended to 32°, though of course there was
neither frost nor ice, because there was nothing fluid or moist to freeze. I do not remember ever feeling such a
sensation of intense cold. The day was delightfully cool; I was most anxious to find out if any water could be got at
the junction of the two creeks just left. Mr. Tietkens and Gibson took three fresh horses, and the shovel, on Monday,
the 3rd of November, and started out there again.

Remaining at the camp was simple agony, the ants were so numerous and annoying; a strong wind was blowing from the
eastwards, and the camp was in a continual cloud of sand and dust.

The next day was again windy and dusty, but not quite so hot as yesterday. Jimmy and I and the two dogs were at the
camp. He had a habit of biting the dogs' noses, and it was only when they squealed that I saw what he was doing; to-day
Cocky was the victim. I said, “What the deuce do you want to be biting the dog's nose for, you might seriously injure
his nasal organ?” “Horgin,” said Jimmy, “do you call his nose a horgin?” I said, “Yes, any part of the body of man or
animal is called an organ.” “Well,” he said, “I never knew that dogs carried horgins about with them before.” I said,
“Well, they do, and don't you go biting any of them again.” Jimmy of course, my reader can see, was a queer young
fellow. On one occasion further back, a good many crows were about, and they became the subject of discussion. I
remarked, “I've travelled about in the bush as much as most people, and I never yet saw a little crow that couldn't
fly;” then Jimmy said, “Why, when we was at the Birthday, didn't I bring a little crow hin a hague hin?” I said,
“What's hin a hague hin?” To which he replied, “I didn't say hin a hague hin, I says Hand her hague
hin.” After this, whenever we went hunting for water, and found it, if there was a sufficient quantity for us we
always said, “Oh, there's enough to boil a hague in anyhow.” Late in the evening of the next day, Jimmy and I were
watching at the tank for pigeons, when the three horses Mr. Tietkens took away came up to drink; this of course
informed me they had returned. The horses looked fearfully hollow, and I could see at a glance that they could not
possibly have had any water since they left. Mr. Tietkens reported that no water was to be got anywhere, and the
country to the west appeared entirely waterless.

I was, however, determined to make one more attempt. Packing two horses with water, I intended to carry it out to
the creek, which is forty miles from here. At that point I would water one horse, hang the remainder of the water in a
tree, and follow the creek channel to see what became of it. I took Gibson and Jimmy, Mr. Tietkens remaining at the
camp. On arriving at the junction of the larger creek, we followed down the channel and in five miles, to my great
surprise, though the traveller in these regions should be surprised at nothing, we completely ran the creek out, as it
simply ended among triodia, sandhills, and scrubby mulga flats. I was greatly disappointed at this turn of affairs, as
I had thought from its size it would at least have led me to some water, and to the discovery of some new geographical
features. Except where we struck it, the country had all been burnt, and we had to return to that spot to get grass to
camp at. Water existed only in the bags which we carried with us. I gave the horse I intend riding to-morrow a couple
of buckets of water. I suppose he would have drank a dozen — the others got none. The three of us encamped together
here.

The following day was Sunday, the 9th of November, but was not a day of rest to any of us. Gibson and Jimmy started
back with the packhorses for the Shoeing Camp, while I intended going westward, westward, and alone! I gave my horse
another drink, and fixed a water-bag, containing about eight gallons, in a leather envelope up in a tree; and started
away like errant knight on sad adventure bound, though unattended by any esquire or shield-bearer. I rode away west,
over open triodia sandhills, with occasional dots of scrub between, for twenty miles. The horizon to the west was
bounded by open, undulating rises of no elevation, but whether of sand or stone I could not determine. At this distance
from the creek the sandhills mainly fell off, and the country was composed of ground thickly clothed with spinifex and
covered all over with brown gravel. I gave my horse an hour's rest here, with the thermometer at 102° in the shade.
There was no grass, and not being possessed of organs that could digest triodia he simply rested. On starting again,
the hills I had left now almost entirely disappeared, and looked flattened out to a long low line. I travelled over
many miles of burnt, stony, brown, gravelly undulations; at every four or five miles I obtained a view of similar
country beyond; at thirty-five miles from the creek the country all round me was exactly alike, but here, on passing a
rise that seemed a little more solid than the others, I noticed in a kind of little valley some signs of recent native
encampments; and the feathers of birds strewn about — there were hawks', pigeons', and cockatoos' feathers. I rode
towards them, and right under my horse's feet I saw a most singular hole in the ground. Dismounting, I found it was
another of those extraordinary cups from whence the natives obtain water. This one was entirely filled up with boughs,
and I had great difficulty in dragging them out, when I perceived that this orifice was of some depth and contained
some water; but on reaching up a drop, with the greatest difficulty, in my hand, I found it was quite putrid; indeed,
while taking out the boughs my nasal horgin, as Jimmy would call it, gave me the same information.

The Stinking Pit.

I found the hole was choked up with rotten leaves, dead animals, birds, and all imaginable sorts of filth. On poking
a stick down into it, seething bubbles aerated through the putrid mass, and yet the natives had evidently been living
upon this fluid for some time; some of the fires in their camp were yet alight. I had very great difficulty in reaching
down to bale any of this fluid into my canvas bucket. My horse seemed anxious to drink, but one bucketful was all he
could manage. There was not more than five or six buckets of water in this hole; it made me quite sick to get the
bucketful for the horse. There were a few hundred acres of silver grass in the little valley near, and as my horse
began to feed with an apparent relish, I remained here, though I anticipated at any moment seeing a number of natives
make their appearance. I said to myself, “Come one, come all, this rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as I.” No
enemies came, and I passed the night with my horse feeding quietly close to where I lay. To this I attributed my
safety.

Long before sunrise I was away from this dismal place, not giving my horse any more of the disgusting water. In a
mile or two I came to the top of one of those undulations which at various distances bound the horizon. They are but
swells a little higher than the rest of the country. How far this formation would extend was the question, and what
other feature that lay beyond, at which water could be obtained, was a difficult problem to solve. From its appearance
I was compelled to suppose that it would remain unaltered for a very considerable distance. From this rise all I could
see was another; this I reached in nine miles. Nearly all the country hereabout had been burnt, but not very recently.
The ground was still covered with gravel, with here and there small patches of scrub, the country in general being very
good for travelling. I felt sure it would be necessary to travel 150 miles at least before a watered spot could be
found. How ardently I wished for a camel; for what is a horse where waters do not exist except at great distances
apart? I pushed on to the next rising ground, ten miles, being nearly twenty from where I had camped. The view from
here was precisely similar to the former ones. My horse had not travelled well this morning, he seemed to possess but
little pluck. Although he was fat yesterday, he is literally poor now. This horse's name was Pratt; he was a poor weak
creature, and died subsequently from thirst. I am afraid the putrid water has made him ill, for I have had great
difficulty in getting him to go. I turned him out here for an hour at eleven o'clock, when the thermometer indicated
102° in the shade. The horse simply stood in the shade of a small belt of mulga, but he would not try to eat. To the
south about a mile there was apparently a more solid rise, and I walked over to it, but there was no cup either to
cheer or inebriate. I was now over fifty miles from my water-bag, which was hanging in a tree at the mercy of the winds
and waves, not to mention its removal by natives, and if I lost that I should probably lose my life as well. I was now
ninety miles from the Shoeing Camp, and unless I was prepared to go on for another hundred miles; ten, fifteen, twenty,
or fifty would be of little or no use. It was as much as my horse would do to get back alive. From this point I
returned. The animal went so slowly that it was dusk when I got back to the Cup, where I observed, by the removal of
several boughs, that natives had been here in my absence. They had put a lot of boughs back into the hole again. I had
no doubt they were close to me now, and felt sure they were watching me and my movements with lynx-like glances from
their dark metallic eyes. I looked upon my miserable wretch of a horse as a safeguard from them. He would not eat, but
immediately hobbled off to the pit, and I was afraid he would jump in before I could stop him, he was so eager for
drink. It was an exceedingly difficult operation to get water out of this abominable hole, as the bucket could not be
dipped into it, nor could I reach the frightful fluid at all without hanging my head down, with my legs stretched
across the mouth of it, while I baled the foetid mixture into the bucket with one of my boots, as I had no other
utensil. What with the position I was in and the horrible odour which rose from the seething fluid, I was seized with
violent retching. The horse gulped down the first half of the bucket with avidity, but after that he would only sip at
it, and I was glad enough to find that the one bucketful I had baled out of the pit was sufficient. I don't think any
consideration would have induced me to bale out another.

Having had but little sleep, I rode away at three o'clock next morning. The horse looked wretched and went worse. It
was past midday when I had gone twenty miles, when, entering sandhill country, I was afraid he would knock up
altogether. After an hour and a half's rest he seemed better; he walked away almost briskly, and we reached the
water-bag much earlier than I expected. Here we both had a good drink, although he would have emptied the bag three
times over if he could have got it. The day had been hot.

When I left this singular watercourse, where plenty of water existed in its upper portions, but was either too
bitter or too salt for use, I named it Elder's Creek. The other that joins it I called Hughes's Creek, and the range in
which they exist the Colonel's Range.

There was not much water left for the horse. He was standing close to the bag for some hours before daylight. He
drank it up and away we went, having forty miles to go. I arrived very late. Everything was well except the water
supply, and that was gradually ceasing. In a week there will be none. The day had been pleasant and cool.

Several more days were spent here, re-digging and enlarging the old tank and trying to find a new. Gibson and I went
to some hills to the south, with a rampart-like face. The place swarmed with pigeons, but we could find no water. We
could hear the birds crooning and cooing in all directions as we rode, “like the moan of doves in immemorial elms, and
the murmurings of innumerable bees.” This rampart-like ridge was festooned with cypress pines, and had there been water
there, I should have thought it a very pretty place. Every day was telling upon the water at the camp. We had to return
unsuccessful, having found none. The horses were loose, and rambled about in several mobs and all directions, and at
night we could not get them all together. The water was now so low that, growl as we may, go we must. It was five p.m.
on the 17th of November when we left. The nearest water now to us that I knew of was at Fort Mueller, but I decided to
return to it by a different route from that we had arrived on, and as some hills lay north-easterly, and some were
pretty high, we went away in that direction.

We travelled through the usual poor country, and crossed several dry water-channels. In one I thought to get a drink
for the horses. The party having gone on, I overtook them and sent Gibson back with the shovel. We brought the horses
back to the place, but he gave a very gloomy opinion of it. The supply was so poor that, after working and watching the
horses all night, they could only get a bucketful each by morning, and I was much vexed at having wasted time and
energy in such a wretched spot, which we left in huge disgust, and continued on our course. Very poor regions were
traversed, every likely-looking spot was searched for water. I had been steering for a big hill from the Shoeing Camp;
a dry creek issued from its slopes. Here the hills ceased in this northerly direction, only to the east and south-east
could ranges be seen, and it is only in them that water can be expected in this region. Fort Mueller was nearly fifty
miles away, on a bearing of 30° south of east. We now turned towards it. A detached, jagged, and inviting-looking range
lay a little to the east of north-east; it appeared similar to the Fort Mueller hills. I called it Jamieson's* Range,
but did not visit it. Half the day was lost in useless searching for water, and we encamped without any; thermometer
104° at ten a.m. At night we camped on an open piece of spinifex country. We had thunder and lightning, and about six
heat-drops of rain fell.

The next day we proceeded on our course for Fort Mueller; at twelve miles we had a shower of rain, with thunder and
lightning, that lasted a few seconds only. We were at a bare rock, and had the rain lasted with the same force for only
a minute, we could have given our horses a drink upon the spot, but as it was we got none. The horses ran all about
licking the rock with their parched tongues.

Late at night we reached our old encampment, where we had got water in the sandy bed of the creek. It was now no
longer here, and we had to go further up. I went on ahead to look for a spot, and returning, met the horses in hobbles
going up the creek, some right in the bed. I intended to have dug a tank for them, but the others let them go too soon.
I consoled myself by thinking that they had only to go far enough, and they would get water on the surface. With the
exception of the one bucket each, this was their fourth night without water. The sky was now as black as pitch; it
thundered and lightened, and there was every appearance of a fall of rain, but only a light mist or heavy dew fell for
an hour or two; it was so light and the temperature so hot that we all lay without a rag on till morning.

At earliest dawn Mr. Tietkens and I took the shovel and walked to where we heard the horsebells. Twelve of the poor
animals were lying in the bed of the creek, with limbs stretched out as if dead, but we were truly glad to find they
were still alive, though some of them could not get up. Some that were standing up were working away with their hobbled
feet the best way they could, stamping out the sand trying to dig out little tanks, and one old stager had actually
reached the water in his tank, so we drove him away and dug out a proper place. We got all the horses watered by nine
o'clock. It was four a.m. when we began to dig, and our exercise gave us an excellent appetite for our breakfast.
Gibson built a small bough gunyah, under which we sat, with the thermometer at 102°.

In the afternoon the sky became overcast, and at six p.m. rain actually began to fall heavily, but only for a
quarter of an hour, though it continued to drip for two or three hours. During and after that we had heavy thunder and
most vivid lightnings. The thermometer at nine fell to 48°; in the sun to-day it had been 176°, the difference being
128° in a few hours, and we thought we should be frozen stiff where we stood. A slight trickle of surface water came
down the creek channel. The rain seemed to have come from the west, and I resolved to push out there again and see.
This was Friday; a day's rest was actually required by the horses, and the following day being Sunday, we yet
remained.

MONDAY, 24TH NOVEMBER.

We had thunder, lightnings, and sprinklings of rain again during last night. We made another departure for the
Shoeing Camp and Elder's Creek. At the bare rock previously mentioned, which was sixteen miles en route 30° north of
west, we found the rain had left sufficient water for us, and we camped. The native well was full, and water also lay
upon the rock. The place now seemed exceedingly pretty, totally different from its original appearance, when we could
get no water at it. How wonderful is the difference the all-important element creates! While we were here another
thunderstorm came up from the west and refilled all the basins, which the horses had considerably reduced. I called
this the Lightning Rock, as on both our visits the lightning played so vividly around us. Just as we were starting,
more thunder and lightnings and five minutes' rain came.

From here I steered to the one-bucket tank, and at one place actually saw water lying upon the ground, which was a
most extraordinary circumstance. I was in great hopes the country to the west had been well visited by the rains. The
country to-day was all dense scrubs, in which we saw a Mus conditor's nest. When in these scrubs I always ride in
advance with a horse's bell fixed on my stirrup, so that those behind, although they cannot see, may yet hear which way
to come. Continually working this bell has almost deprived me of the faculty of hearing; the constant passage of the
horses through these direful scrubs has worn out more canvas bags than ever entered into my calculations. Every night
after travelling, some, if not all the bags, are sure to be ripped, causing the frequent loss of flour and various
small articles that get jerked out. This has gone on to such an extent that every ounce of twine has been used up; the
only supply we can now get is by unravelling some canvas. Ourselves and our clothes, as well as our pack-bags, get
continually torn also. Any one in future traversing these regions must be equipped entirely in leather; there must be
leather shirts and leather trousers, leather hats, leather heads, and leather hearts, for nothing else can stand in a
region such as this.

We continued on our course for the one-bucket place; but searching some others of better appearance, I was surprised
to find that not a drop of rain had fallen, and I began to feel alarmed that the Shoeing Camp should also have been
unvisited. One of the horses was unwell, and concealed himself in the scrubs; some time was lost in recovering him. As
it was dark and too late to go on farther, we had to encamp without water, nor was there any grass.

The following day we arrived at the old camp, at which there had been some little rain. The horses were choking, and
rushed up the gully like mad; we had to drive them into a little yard we had made when here previously, as a whole lot
of them treading into the tank at once might ruin it for ever. The horse that hid himself yesterday knocked up to-day,
and Gibson remained to bring him on; he came four hours after us, though we only left him three miles away. There was
not sufficient water in the tank for all the horses; I was greatly grieved to find that so little could be got.

The camp ground had now become simply a moving mass of ants; they were bad enough when we left, but now they were
frightful; they swarmed over everything, and bit us to the verge of madness. It is eleven days since we left this
place, and now having returned, it seems highly probable that I shall soon be compelled to retreat again. Last night
the ants were unbearable to Mr. Tietkens and myself, but Gibson and Jimmy do not appear to lose any sleep on their
account. With the aid of a quart pot and a tin dish I managed to get some sort of a bath; but this is a luxury the
traveller in these regions must in a great measure learn to do without. My garments and person were so perfumed with
smashed ants, that I could almost believe I had been bathing in a vinegar cask. It was useless to start away from here
with all the horses, without knowing how, or if any, rains had fallen out west. I therefore despatched Mr. Tietkens and
Jimmy to take a tour round to all our former places. At twenty-five miles was the almost bare rocky hill which I called
par excellence the Cups, from the number of those little stone indentures upon its surface, which I first saw on the
19th of October, this being the 29th of November. If no water was there, I directed Mr. Tietkens then only to visit
Elder's Creek and return; for if there was none at the Cups, there would be but little likelihood of any in other
places.

Gibson and I had a most miserable day at the camp. The ants were dreadful; the hot winds blew clouds of sandy dust
all through and over the place; the thermometer was at 102°. We repaired several pack-bags. A few mosquitoes for
variety paid us persistent attentions during the early part of the night; but their stings and bites were delightful
pleasures compared to the agonies inflicted on us by the myriads of small black ants. Another hot wind and sand-dust
day; still sewing and repairing pack-bags to get them into something like order and usefulness.

At one p.m. Mr. Tietkens returned from the west, and reported that the whole country in that direction had been
entirely unvisited by rains, with the exception of the Cups, and there, out of several dozen rocky indents, barely
sufficient water for their three horses could be got. Elder's Creek, the Cob tank, the Colonel's Range, Hughes's Creek,
and all the ranges lying between here and there, the way they returned, were perfectly dry, not a drop of moisture
having fallen in all that region. Will it evermore be thus? Jupiter impluvius? Thermometer to-day 106° in shade. The
water supply is so rapidly decreasing that in two days it will be gone. This is certainly not a delightful position to
hold, indeed it is one of the most horrible of imaginable encampments. The small water supply is distant about a mile
from the camp, and we have to carry it down in kegs on a horse, and often when we go for it, we find the horses have
just emptied and dirtied the tank. We are eaten alive by flies, ants, and mosquitoes, and our existence here cannot be
deemed a happy one. Whatever could have obfuscated the brains of Moses, when he omitted to inflict Pharaoh with such
exquisite torturers as ants, I cannot imagine. In a fiery region like to this I am photophobist enough to think I could
wallow at ease, in blissful repose, in darkness, amongst cool and watery frogs; but ants, oh ants, are frightful! Like
Othello, I am perplexed in the extreme — rain threatens every day, I don't like to go and I can't stay. Over some hills
Mr. Tietkens and I found an old rocky native well, and worked for hours with shovel and levers, to shift great boulders
of rock, and on the 4th of December we finally left the deceitful Shoeing Camp — never, I hope, to return. The new
place was no better; it was two and a half miles away, in a wretched, scrubby, rocky, dry hole, and by moving some
monstrous rocks, which left holes where they formerly rested, some water drained in, so that by night the horses were
all satisfied. There was a hot, tropical, sultry feeling in the atmosphere all day, though it was not actually so hot
as most days lately; some terrific lightnings occurred here on the night of the 5th of December, but we heard no
thunder. On the 6th and 7th Mr. Tietkens and I tried several places to the eastwards for water, but without success. At
three p.m. of the 7th, we had thunder and lightning, but no rain; thermometer 106°. On returning to camp, we were told
that the water was rapidly failing, it becoming fine by degrees and beautifully less. At night the heavens were
illuminated for hours by the most wonderful lightnings; it was, I suppose, too distant to permit the sound of thunder
to be heard. On the 8th we made sure that rain would fall, the night and morning were very hot. We had clouds, thunder,
lightning, thermometer 112° and every mortal disagreeable thing we wanted; so how could we expect rain? but here,
thanks to Moses, or Pharaoh, or Providence, or the rocks, we were not troubled with ants. The next day we cleared out;
the water was gone, so we went also. The thermometer was 110° in the shade when we finally left these miserable hills.
We steered away again for Fort Mueller, via the Lightning Rock, which was forty-five miles away. We traversed a country
nearly all scrub, passing some hills and searching channels and gullies as we went. We only got over twenty-one miles
by night; I had been very unwell for the last three or four days, and to-day I was almost too ill to sit on my horse; I
had fever, pains all over, and a splitting headache. The country being all scrub, I was compelled as usual to ride with
a bell on my stirrup. Jingle jangle all day long; what with heat, fever, and the pain I was in, and the din of that
infernal bell, I really thought it no sin to wish myself out of this world, and into a better, cooler, and less noisy
one, where not even:—

“To heavenly harps the angelic choir,

Circling the throne of the eternal King; “

should:—

“With hallowed lips and holy fire,

Rejoice their hymns of praise to sing;”

which revived in my mind vague opinions with regard to our notions of heaven. If only to sit for ever singing hymns
before Jehovah's throne is to be the future occupation of our souls, it is doubtful if the thought should be so
pleasing, as the opinions of Plato and other philosophers, and which Addison has rendered to us thus:—

“Eternity, thou pleasing, dreadful thought,

Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me,” etc.

But I am trenching upon debatable ground, and have no desire to enter an argument upon the subject. It is doubtless
better to believe the tenets taught us in our childhood, than to seek at mature age to unravel a mystery which it is
self-evident the Great Creator never intended that man in this state of existence should become acquainted with.
However, I'll say no more on such a subject, it is quite foreign to the matter of my travels, and does not ease my
fever in any way — in fact it rather augments it.

The next morning, the 10th, I was worse, and it was agony to have to rise, let alone to ride. We reached the
Lightning Rock at three p.m., when the thermometer indicated 110°. The water was all but gone from the native well, but
a small quantity was obtained by digging. I was too ill to do anything. A number of native fig-trees were growing on
this rock, and while Gibson was using the shovel, Mr. Tietkens went to get some for me, as he thought they might do me
good. It was most fortunate that he went, for though he did not get any figs, he found a fine rock water-hole which we
had not seen before, and where all the horses could drink their fill. I was never more delighted in my life. The
thought of moving again to-morrow was killing — indeed I had intended to remain, but this enabled us all to do so. It
was as much as I could do to move even the mile, to where we shifted our camp; thermometer 108°. By the next day, 12th,
the horses had considerably reduced the water, and by to-morrow it will be gone. This basin would be of some size were
it cleaned out; we could not tell what depth it was, as it is now almost entirely filled with the debris of ages. Its
shape is elliptical, and is thirty feet long by fifteen broad, its sides being even more abrupt than perpendicular —
that is to say, shelving inwards — and the horses could only water by jumping down at one place. There was about three
feet of water, the rest being all soil. To-day was much cooler. I called this Tietkens's Tank. On the 14th, the water
was gone, the tank dry, and all the horses away to the east, and it was past three when they were brought back.
Unfortunately, Gibson's little dog Toby followed him out to-day and never returned. After we started I sent Gibson back
to await the poor pup's return, but at night Gibson came without Toby; I told him he could have any horses he liked to
go back for him to-morrow, and I would have gone myself only I was still too ill. During the night Gibson was taken ill
just as I had been; therefore poor Toby was never recovered. We have still one little dog of mine which I bought in
Adelaide, of the same kind as Toby, that is to say, the small black-and-tan English terrier, though I regret to say he
is decidedly not, of the breed of that Billy indeed, who used to kill rats for a bet; I forget how many one morning he
ate, but you'll find it in sporting books yet. It was very late when we reached our old bough gunyah camp; there was no
water. I intended going up farther, but, being behind, Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy had began to unload, and some of the
horses were hobbled out when I arrived; Gibson was still behind. For the second time I have been compelled to retreat
to this range; shall I ever get away from it? When we left the rock, the thermometer indicated 110° in the shade.

Next morning I was a little better, but Gibson was very ill — indeed I thought he was going to die, and would he had
died quietly there. Mr. Tietkens and I walked up the creek to look for the horses. We found and took about half of them
to the surface water up in the narrow glen. When we arrived, there was plenty of water running merrily along the creek
channel, and there were several nice ponds full, but when we brought the second lot to the place an hour and a half
afterwards, the stream had ceased to flow, and the nice ponds just mentioned were all but empty and dry. This
completely staggered me to find the drainage cease so suddenly. The day was very hot, 110°, when we returned to
camp.

I was in a state of bewilderment at the thought of the water having so quickly disappeared, and I was wondering
where I should have to retreat to next, as it appeared that in a day or two there would literally be no water at all. I
felt ill again from my morning's walk, and lay down in the 110° of shade, afforded by the bough gunyah which Gibson had
formerly made.

I had scarcely settled myself on my rug when a most pronounced shock of earthquake occurred, the volcanic wave,
which caused a sound like thunder, passing along from west to east right under us, shook the ground and the gunyah so
violently as to make me jump up as though nothing was the matter with me. As the wave passed on, we heard up in the
glen to the east of us great concussions, and the sounds of smashing and falling rocks hurled from their native
eminences rumbling and crashing into the glen below. The atmosphere was very still to-day, and the sky clear except to
the deceitful west.

Gibson is still so ill that we did not move the camp. I was in a great state of anxiety about the water supply, and
Tietkens and I walked first after the horses, and then took them up to the glen, where I was enchanted to behold the
stream again in full flow, and the sheets of surface water as large, and as fine as when we first saw them yesterday. I
was puzzled at this singular circumstance, and concluded that the earthquake had shaken the foundations of the hills,
and thus forced the water up; but from whatsoever cause it proceeded, I was exceedingly glad to see it. To-day was much
cooler than yesterday. At three p.m. the same time of day, we had another shock of earthquake similar to that of
yesterday, only that the volcanic wave passed along a little northerly of the camp, and the sounds of breaking and
falling rocks came from over the hills to the north-east of us.

Gibson was better on the 17th, and we moved the camp up into the glen where the surface water existed. We pitched
our encampment upon a small piece of rising ground, where there was a fine little pool of water in the creek bed,
partly formed of rocks, over which the purling streamlet fell, forming a most agreeable little basin for a bath.

The day was comparatively cool, 100°. The glen here is almost entirely choked up with tea-trees, and we had to cut
great quantities of wood away so as to approach the water easily. The tea-tree is the only timber here for firewood;
many trees are of some size, being seven or eight inches through, but mostly very crooked and gnarled. The green wood
appears to burn almost as well as the dead, and forms good ash for baking dampers. Again to-day we had our usual shock
of earthquake and at the usual time. Next day at three p.m., earthquake, quivering hills, broken and toppling rocks,
with scared and agitated rock wallabies. This seemed a very ticklish, if not extremely dangerous place for a depot.
Rocks overhung and frowned down upon us in every direction; a very few of these let loose by an earthquake would soon
put a period to any further explorations on our part. We passed a great portion of to-day (18th) in erecting a fine
large bough-house; they are so much cooler than tents. We also cleared several patches of rich brown soil, and made
little Gardens (de Plantes), putting in all sorts of garden and other seeds. I have now discovered that towards
afternoon, when the heat is greatest the flow of water ceases in the creek daily; but at night, during the morning
hours and up to about midday, the little stream flows murmuring on over the stones and through the sand as merrily as
one can wish. Fort Mueller cannot be said to be a pretty spot, for it is so confined by the frowning, battlemented,
fortress-like walls of black and broken hills, that there is scarcely room to turn round in it, and attacks by the
natives are much to be dreaded here.

We have had to clear the ground round our fort of the stones and huge bunches of triodia which we found there. The
slopes of the hills are also thickly clothed with this dreadful grass. The horses feed some three or four miles away on
the fine open grassy country which, as I mentioned before, surrounds this range. The herbage being so excellent here,
the horses got so fresh, we had to build a yard with the tea-tree timber to run them in when we wanted to catch any. I
still hope rain will fall, and lodge at Elder's Creek, a hundred miles to the west, so as to enable me to push out
westward again. Nearly every day the sky is overcast, and rain threatens to fall, especially towards the north, where a
number of unconnected ridges or low ranges lie. Mr. Tietkens and I prepared to start northerly to-morrow, the 20th, to
inspect them.

We got out in that direction about twenty miles, passed near a hill I named Mount Scott*, and found a small creek,
but no water. The country appeared to have been totally unvisited by rains.

We carried some water in a keg for ourselves, but the horses got none. The country passed over to-day was mostly red
sandhills, recently burnt, and on that account free from spinifex. We travelled about north, 40° east. We next steered
away for a dark-looking, bluff-ending hill, nearly north-north-east. Before arriving at it we searched among a lot of
pine-clad hills for water without effect, reaching the hill in twenty-two miles. Resting our horses, we ascended the
hill; from it I discovered, with glasses, that to the north and round easterly and westerly a number of ranges lay at a
very considerable distance. The nearest, which lay north, was evidently sixty or seventy miles off. These ranges
appeared to be of some length, but were not sufficiently raised above the ocean of scrubs, which occupied the
intervening spaces, and rose into high and higher undulations, to allow me to form an opinion with regard to their
altitude. Those east of north appeared higher and farther away, and were bolder and more pointed in outline. None of
them were seen with the naked eye at first, but, when once seen with the field-glasses, the mind's eye would always
represent them to us, floating and faintly waving apparently skywards in their vague and distant mirage. This discovery
instantly created a burning desire in both of us to be off and reach them; but there were one or two preliminary
determinations to be considered before starting. We are now nearly fifty miles from Fort Mueller, and the horses have
been all one day, all one night, and half to-day without water. There might certainly be water at the new ranges, but
then again there might not, and although they were at least sixty miles off, our horses might easily reach them. If,
however, no water were found, they and perhaps we could never return. My reader must not confound a hundred miles' walk
in this region with the same distance in any other. The greatest walker that ever stepped would find more than his
match here. In the first place the feet sink in the loose and sandy soil, in the second it is densely covered with the
hideous porcupine; to avoid the constant prickings from this the walker is compelled to raise his feet to an unnatural
height; and another hideous vegetation, which I call sage-bush, obstructs even more, although it does not pain so much
as the irritans. Again, the ground being hot enough to burn the soles off one's boots, with the thermometer at
something like 180° in the sun, and the choking from thirst at every movement of the body, is enough to make any one
pause before he foolishly gets himself into such a predicament. Discretion in such a case is by far the better part of
valour — for valour wasted upon burning sands to no purpose is like love's labour lost.

Close about in all directions, except north, were broken masses of hills, and we decided to search among them for a
new point of departure. We re-saddled our horses, and searched those nearest, that is to say easterly; but no water was
found, nor any place that could hold it for an hour after it fell from the sky. Then we went north-west, to a
bare-looking hill, and others with pines ornamenting their tops; but after travelling and searching all day, and the
horses doing forty-six miles, we had to camp again without water.

In the night the thermometer went down to 62°. I was so cold that I had to light a fire to lie down by. All this day
was uselessly lost in various traverses and searchings without reward; and after travelling forty-two miles, the
unfortunate horses had to go again for the third night without water. We were, however, nearing the depot again, and
reached it, in sixteen miles, early the next morning. Thankful enough we were to have plenty of water to drink, a bath,
and change of clothes.

Chapter 2.6. From 23rd December, 1873 to 16th January, 1874.

Primitive laundry. Natives troublesome in our absence. The ives. Gibson's estimate of a straight
heel. Christmas day, 1873. Attacked by natives. A wild caroo. Wild grapes from a sandal-wood tree. More earthquakes.
The moon on the waters. Another journey northwards. Retreat to the depot. More rain at the depot. Jimmy's escape. A
“canis familiaris”. An innocent lamb. Sage-bush scrubs. Groves of oak-trees. Beautiful green flat. Crab-hole water.
Bold and abrupt range. A glittering cascade. Invisibly bright water. The murmur in the shell. A shower bath. The Alice
Falls. Ascend to the summit. A strange view. Gratified at our discoveries. Return to Fort Mueller. Digging with a
tomahawk. Storing water. Wallaby for supper. Another attack. Gibson's gardens. Opossums destructive. Birds. Thoughts.
Physical peculiarities of the region. Haunted. Depart.

The way we wash our clothes is primitive — it can only be done at a depot. When we have sufficient water, we simply
put them into it, and leave them until we want to change again, and then do the same with those we take off; sometimes
they sweeten for several days, oftener much less. It is an inexpensive method, which, however, I suppose I must not
claim as an invention. On the 23rd, when we arrived, Gibson informed us that the natives had been exceedingly
troublesome, and had thrown several spears and stones down from the rocks above, so that he and Jimmy had had to defend
themselves with firearms. Our bough-house was a great protection to them, and it appeared also that these wretches had
hunted all the horses away from their feeding ground, and they had not been seen for three days, and not having come up
to water all the time we were away. At four p.m. we had our afternoon earthquake, and Gibson said the shock had
occurred twice during our absence. The hostility of the natives was very annoying in more senses than one, as it would
delay me in carrying out my desire to visit the new and distant ranges north. Christmas had been slightly anticipated
by Gibson, who said he had made and cooked a Christmas pudding, and that it was now ready for the table. We therefore
had it for dinner, and did ample justice to Gibson's cookery. They had also shot several rock-wallabies, which abound
here. They are capital eating, especially when fried; then they have a great resemblance to mutton.

Gibson and Jimmy did not agree very well; Jimmy always had some tale of woe to pour into my ear whenever I returned
from an outside trip. He was a very clean young fellow, but Gibson would never wash himself; and once when Jimmy made
some remark about it, Gibson said to me, “I can't think what you and Tietkens and Jimmy are always washing yourselves
for.” “Why,” I said, “for health and cleanliness, to be sure.” “Oh,” said he, “if I was to bathe like you do, it would
give me the ‘ives».” I often showed the others how to mend their boots. One day, sitting in the shade of our
bough-house, we were engaged in cobbling. Gibson used to tread so unevenly on his boots that the heels were turned
nearly upwards, and he walked more on the uppers than on the soles, therefore his required all the more repairing.
Picking up one of my boots that I had just mended, Gibson looked very hard at it, and at last said, “How do you manage
to wear your boots so straight?” “Oh,” I said, “perhaps my legs are straight.” He rejoined, “Well, ain't mine straight
too?” I said, “I don't know; I don't see them often enough to tell,” alluding to his not bathing. “Well,” he said at
last, with a deep sigh, “By G—”— gum, I suppose he meant —“I'd give a pound to be able to wear my boots as straight as
you. No, I'm damned if I wouldn't give five-and-twenty bob!” We laughed. We had some rolls of smoked beef, which caused
the ants to come about the camp, and we had to erect a little table with legs in the water, to lay these on. One roll
had a slightly musty smell, and Gibson said to me, “This roll's rotten; shall I chuck it away?” “Chuck it away,” I
said; “why, man, you must be cranky to talk such rubbish as throwing away food in such a region as this!” “Why,” said
he, “nobody won't eat it.” “No,” said I, “but somebody will eat it; I for one, and enjoy it too.” Whereupon he looked
up at me, and said, “Oh, are you one of them as likes yer meat 'igh?” I was annoyed at his stupendous stupidity, and
said, “One of them! Who are you talking about? Who are they I'd like to know? When we boil this meat, if we
put a piece of charcoal in the pot, it will come out as sweet as a nut.” He merely replied, with a dubious expression
of face, “Oh!” but he ate his share of it as readily as anybody else. The next day, Christmas eve, I sent Mr. Tietkens
and Gibson on two of the horses we had lately brought back, to find the mob, which they brought home late, and said the
tracks of the natives showed that they had driven the horses away for several miles, and they had found them near a
small creek, along the south face of the range, where there was water. While they were away some ducks visited the
camp, but the tea-tree was too thick to allow us to shoot any of them. The day was cool, although there is a great
oppression in the atmosphere, and it is impossible to tell by one's feelings what might be the range of the
thermometer, as I have often felt it hotter on some days with the thermometer at 96 or 98° than when it ranged up to
108 or 110°. The afternoons are excessively relaxing, for although the mercury falls a little after three o'clock,
still the morning's heat appears to remain until the sun has actually set. It is more than probable that the horses
having been hunted by the natives, and having found more water, will not come back here of their own accord to water
any more; so I shall keep one tied up at the camp, to fetch the others up with every morning.

And now comes Thursday, 25th December, Christmas Day, 1873. Ah, how the time flies! Years following years, steal
something every day; at last they steal us from ourselves away. What Horace says is, Eheu fugaces, anni labuntur
postume, postume:— Years glide away, and are lost to me, lost to me.

While Jimmy Andrews was away after the others, upon the horse that was tied up all night, we were startled out of
our propriety by the howls and yells of a pack of fiends in human form and aboriginal appearance, who had clambered up
the rocks just above our camp. I could only see some ten or a dozen in the front, but scores more were dodging in and
out among the rocks. The more prominent throng were led by an ancient individual, who, having fitted a spear, was just
in the act of throwing it down amongst us, when Gibson seized a rifle, and presented him with a conical Christmas box,
which smote the rocks with such force, and in such near proximity to his hinder parts, that in a great measure it
checked his fiery ardour, and induced most of his more timorous following to climb with most perturbed activity over
the rocks. The ancient more slowly followed, and then from behind the fastness of his rocky shield, he spoke spears and
boomerangs to us, though he used none. He, however, poured out the vials of his wrath upon us, as he probably thought
to some purpose. I was not linguist enough to be able to translate all he said; but I am sure my free interpretation of
the gist of his remarks is correct, for he undoubtedly stigmatised us as a vile and useless set of lazy, crawling,
white-faced wretches, who came sitting on hideous brutes of hippogryphs, being too lazy to walk like black men, and
took upon ourselves the right to occupy any country or waters we might chance to find; that we killed and ate any
wallabies and other game we happened to see, thereby depriving him and his friends of their natural, lawful food, and
that our conduct had so incensed himself and his noble friends, who were now in the shelter of the rocks near him, that
he begged us to take warning that it was the unanimous determination of himself and his noble friends to destroy such
vermin as he considered us, and our horses to be, and drive us from the face of the earth.

It appeared to me, however, that his harangue required punctuation, so I showed him the rifle again, whereupon he
incontinently indulged in a full stop. The natives then retired from those rocks, and commenced their attack by
throwing spears through the tea-tree from the opposite side of the creek. Here we had the back of our gunyah for a
shield, and could poke the muzzles of our guns and rifles through the interstices of the boughs. We were compelled to
discharge our pieces at them to ensure our peace and safety.

Our last discharge drove away the enemy, and soon after, Jimmy came with all the horses. Gibson shot a wallaby, and
we had fried chops for our Christmas dinner. We drew from the medical department a bottle of rum to celebrate Christmas
and victory. We had an excellent dinner (for explorers), although we had eaten our Christmas pudding two days before.
We perhaps had no occasion to envy any one their Christmas dinner, although perhaps we did. Thermometer 106° in the
shade. On this occasion Mr. Tietkens, who was almost a professional, sang us some songs in a fine, deep, clear voice,
and Gibson sang two or three love songs, not altogether badly; then it was Jimmy's turn. He said he didn't know no love
songs, but he would give us Tommy or Paddy Brennan. This gentleman appears to have started in business as a highwayman
in the romantic mountains of Limerick. One verse that Jimmy gave, and which pleased us most, because we couldn't quite
understand it, was

“It was in sweet Limerick (er) citty

That he left his mother dear;

And in the Limerick (er) mountains,

He commenced his wild caroo-oo.”

Upon our inquiring what a caroo was, Jimmy said he didn't know. No doubt it was something very desperate, and we
considered we were perhaps upon a bit of a wild caroo ourselves.

The flies had now become a most terrible plague, especially to the horses, but most of all to the unfortunate that
happens to be tied up. One horse, when he found he could not break away, threw himself down so often and so violently,
and hurt himself so much, that I was compelled to let him go, unless I had allowed him to kill himself, which he would
certainly have done.

A small grape-like fruit on a light green bush of the sandal-wood kind, having one soft stone, was got here. This
fruit is black when ripe, and very good eating raw. We tried them cooked with sugar as jam, and though the others liked
them very much, I could not touch them. The afternoons were most oppressive, and we had our usual earthquakes; one on
the 28th causing a more than usual falling of rocks and smashing of tea-trees.

For a few days I was taking a rest. I was grieved to find that the water gradually ceased running earlier than
formerly — that is to say, between eleven and twelve — the usual time had been between two and three p.m.; but by the
morning every little basin was refilled. The phases of the moon have evidently something to do with the water supply.
As the moon waxes, the power of the current wanes, and vice versa. On the 1st January, 1874, the moon was approaching
its full, a quarter's change of the moon being the only time rain is likely to fall in this country; rain is
threatening now every day. After a hot and sultry night, on the 2nd, at about two o'clock, a fine thunder-shower from
the east came over the range, and though it did not last very long, it quite replenished the water supply in the creek,
and set it running again after it had left off work for the day. This shower has quite reanimated my hopes, and Mr.
Tietkens and I at once got three horses, and started off to reach the distant range, hoping now to find some water
which would enable us to reach it. For ten miles from the camp the shower had extended; but beyond that distance no
signs of it were visible anywhere. On the 4th we found a clay-pan, having a clay-hole at one end with some mud in it,
and which the natives had but just left, but no water; then another, where, as thunderstorms were flying about in all
directions, we dug out a clay tank. While at work our clothes were damped with a sprinkling, but not enough rain fell
to leave any on the ground. It seemed evident I must pack out water from Fort Mueller, if ever I reached the new
feature, as Nature evidently did not intend to assist, though it seemed monstrous to have to do so, while the sky was
so densely overcast and black, and threatening thunderstorms coming up from all directions, and carrying away, right
over our heads, thousands of cubic acres of water which must fall somewhere. I determined to wait a few days and see
the upshot of all these threatenings. To the east it was undoubtedly raining, though to the west the sky was
beautifully clear. We returned to the native clay-pan, hoping rain might have fallen, but it was drier than when we
left it. The next morning the clear sky showed that all the rains had departed. We deepened the native clay-hole, and
then left for the depot, and found some water in a little hole about ten miles from it. We rested the horses while we
dug a tank, and drained all the water into it; not having a pickaxe, we could not get down deep enough.

From here I intended to pack some water out north. While we were digging, another thunderstorm came up, sprinkling
us with a few drops to show its contempt; it then split in halves, going respectively north and south, apparently each
dropping rain on the country they passed over.

On reaching the camp, we were told that two nice showers had fallen, the stream now showing no signs of languishing
all the day long. With his usual intelligence, Jimmy Andrews had pulled a double-barrelled gun out from under a heap of
packbags and other things by the barrel; of course, the hammer got caught and snapped down on the cartridge, firing the
contents, but most fortunately missing his body by half an inch. Had it been otherwise, we should have found him
buried, and Gibson a lunatic and alone. No natives had appeared while we were away; as I remembered what the old
gentleman told me about keeping away, so I hoped he would do the same, on account of my parting remarks to him, which
it seems he must have understood.

In the middle of the night my little dog Cocky rushed furiously out of the tent, and began to bark at, and chase
some animal round the camp; he eventually drove it right into the tent. In the obscured moonlight I supposed it was a
native dog, but it was white, and looked exactly like a large fat lamb. It was, at all events, an innocent lamb to come
near us, for as it sauntered away, I sent a revolver bullet after it, and it departed at much greater speed, squealing
and howling until out of earshot.

On the 7th Mr. Tietkens and I again departed for the north. That night we got wet through; there was plenty of
water, but none that would remain. Being sure that the native clay-hole would now be full, we passed it on our left,
and at our outmost tank at nineteen miles were delighted to find that both it and the clay-pan near it were full. We
called this the Emu Tank. We now went to the bare red hill with pines, previously mentioned, and found a trickling flow
of water in a small gully. I hope it will trickle till I return. We are now fifty miles from Fort Mueller, and the
distant ranges seemed even farther away than that.

Moving north, we went over a mass of open-rolling sandhills with triodia, and that other abominable plant I call the
sage-bush. In appearance it is something like low tea-tree, but it differs entirely from that family, inasmuch as it
utterly abhors water. Although it is not spiny like the triodia, it is almost as annoying, both to horse and man, as it
grows too high for either to step over without stretching, and it is too strong to be easily moved aside; hence,
horse-tracks in this region go zigzag.

At thirty-five miles the open sandhills ceased, and scrubs came on. It was a cool and cloudy day. We passed through
a few groves of the pretty desert oak-trees, which I have not seen for some time; a few native poplars and currajongs
were also seen to-day. The horses wandered a long way back in the night.

After travelling fifteen miles, we were now rapidly approaching the range, and we debouched upon a eucalyptus flat,
which was covered with a beautiful carpet of verdure, and not having met with gumtrees for some time, those we saw
here, looked exceedingly fine, and the bark dazzling white. Here we found a clay crab-hole. These holes are so-called
in parts of Australia, usually near the coasts, where freshwater crabs and crayfish bury themselves in the bottoms of
places where rain water often lodges; the holes these creatures make are tubes of two, three, or four feet deep, whose
sides and bottom are cemented, and which hold water like a glass bottle; in these tubes they remain till rain again
lodges above, when for a time they are released. The crab-hole we found contained a little water, which our horses
drank with great avidity. The range was now only six or seven miles off, and it stood up bold and abrupt, having steep
and deep gorges here and there, in its southern front. It was timberless and whitish-looking, and I had no doubt of
finding water at it. I was extremely annoyed to discover that my field glasses, an excellent pair, had been ripped off
my saddle in the scrubs, and I should now be disappointed in obtaining any distant view from the summit.

“They were lost to the view like the sweet morning's dew;

They had been, and were not, was all that I knew.”

From the crab-hole, in seven miles we reached a gorge in the mountain side, travelling through scrub, over quartz,
pebbly hills, and occasional gum flats, all trending west, probably forming a creek in that direction.

In the gorge facing us we could discover a glittering little thread of water pouring down in a cascade from the top
of the mountain into the gorge below, and upon reaching it we found, to our great delight, that we were upon the stony
bank of a beautiful and pellucid little stream, whose almost invisibly bright water was so clear that not till our
horses splashed it up with their feet could we quite realise this treasure trove. It was but a poor place for the
horses to graze, on account of the glen being so stony and confined, but there was no occasion for them to ramble far
to get plenty of grass, or a shady place either. We had some dinner and a most agreeable rest —

“'Neath the gum-trees' shade reclining,

Where the dark green foliage twining,

Screened us from the fervid shining

Of the noontide sun.”

This spot was distant about ninety miles from Fort Mueller, in a straight line. The day was cool and breezy. After
our dinner we walked up to the foot of the cascade, along the margin of the transparent stream, which meandered amongst
great boulders of rock; at the foot we found the rocks rose almost perpendicularly from a charming little basin, into
which the stream from above and the spray from below mingled with a most melodious sound, so pleasant to the ear at any
time, but how much more to our drought-accustomed senses; continually sounding like the murmur in the sea-shell, which,
as the poets say, remembering its ancient and august abode, still murmurs as it murmured then. The water fell from a
height of 150 feet; the descent was not quite unbroken. A delightful shower of spray fell for many yards outside the
basin, inviting to a bath, which we exquisitely enjoyed; the basin was not more than six feet deep. I am quite
delighted with this new feature. There were gorges to the right of us, gorges to the left of us, and there was a gorge
all round us. I shall not stay now to explore them, but will enter upon the task con amore when I bring the whole party
here. I called these the Alice Falls, after one of my sisters. It was impossible to ascend the mountain via the
cascade, so we had to flank it to reach the top. The view from thence, though inspiriting, was still most strange.
Ranges upon ranges, some far and some near, bounded the horizon at all points. There was a high, bold-looking, mount or
range to the north-west forty or fifty miles off. Up to a certain time we always called this the North-West Mountain,
as it bore in that direction when first seen, until we discovered its proper name, when I christened it Mount
Destruction. Other ranges intervened much nearer. The particular portion of the range we were now on, was 1000 feet
above the surrounding level. I found the boiling-point of water on this summit was 206°, being the same as upon the
summit of the Sentinel — that is to say, 3085 feet above the sea. The country intervening between this and the other
ranges in view, appeared open and good travelling ground. The ranges beyond this have a brownish tinge, and are all
entirely different from those at Fort Mueller. The rock formation here is a white and pinkish conglomerate granite. All
the ranges visible are entirely timberless, and are all more or less rounded and corrugated, some having conical
summits, and some looking like enormous eggs standing up on end; this for the first view. We descended, caught our
horses, and departed for Fort Mueller, much gratified at the discoveries already made at this new geographical feature.
On the road back I recovered my glasses. The day was most deliciously cool, there was a sweet perfume in the air, the
morning was like one of those, so enjoyable in the spring, in the far-off agricultural districts of the fertile
portions of the southern and eastern Colonies. When we reached the red bare hill, fifty miles from home, we found the
water had ceased to flow.

At our Emu Tank all the outside surface water was gone, the tank only holding some. Our three horses greatly reduced
its volume, and, fearing it would all evaporate before we could return, we cut a quantity of bushes and sticks to
protect it from the sun. Remounting, we now made for the native clay-hole that we had avoided in going out. The outside
water was now all but gone, but the hole still contained some, though not sufficient for all the horses; we set to work
and chopped out another hole with a tomahawk, and drained all the thick water off the clay-pan into it. Then we cut
boughs, bushes, and sticks to cover them, and proceeded homewards. On reaching the ten-mile or kangaroo tank, we found
to our disgust that the water was nearly all gone, and our original tank not large enough, so we chopped out another
and drained all the surplus water into it. Then the boughs and bushes and sticks for a roof must be got, and by the
time this was finished we were pretty well sick of tank making. Our hands were blistered, our arms were stiff, and our
whole bodies bathed in streams of perspiration, though it was a comparatively cool day. We reached home very late on
the 13th, having left the range on the 10th. I was glad to hear that the natives had not troubled the camp in my
absence. Another circumstance gratified us also, and that was, Gibson had shot a large wallaby; we had not tasted meat
since we left on the 7th.

Attack at Fort Mueller.

To-day, 14th, we were getting all our packs and things ready for a start into the new and northern regions, when at
eleven a.m. Mr. Tietkens gave the alarm that all the rocks overhead were lined with natives, who began to utter the
most direful yells so soon as they found themselves discovered. Their numbers were much larger than before, and they
were in communication with others in the tea-tree on the opposite side of the creek, whose loud and inharmonious cries
made even the heavens to echo with their sounds. They began operations by poising their spears and waving us away. We
waited for some little time, watching their movements, with our rifles in our hands. A flight of spears came crashing
through the flimsy sides of our house, the roof and west gable being the only parts thickly covered, and they could see
us jumping about inside to avoid their spears. Then a flight of spears came from the concealed enemy in the tea-tree.
Mr. Tietkens and I rushed out, and fired right into the middle of the crowd. From the rocks behind which they hid, they
sent another flight of spears; how we escaped them I can't imagine. In the meantime Gibson and Jimmy were firing
through the boughs, and I decided that it was for us to take the aggressive. We rushed up the rocks after the enemy,
when they seemed to drop like caterpillars, as instantaneously, they were all down underneath us right at the camp. I
was afraid they would set fire to it; we however finally drove them from our stronghold, inducing them to decamp more
or less the worse, and leave behind them a considerable quantity of military stores, in the shape of spears, wommerahs,
waddies, wallabies' skins, owls, fly-flappers, red ochre, and numerous other minor valuables. These we brought in
triumph to the camp. It always distressed me to have to fire at these savages, and it was only when our lives were in
most imminent danger that we did so, for, as Iago says, though in the trade of war I have slain men, yet do I hold it
very stuff o' the conscience to do no contrived murder. I lack iniquity, sometimes, to do me service. We then went on
with our work, though expecting our foes to return, but we were not again molested, as they now probably thought we
were vipers that would not stand too much crowding.

Three horses were missing, therefore we could not leave that day, and when they were found on the next, it was too
late to start. I tied one of these wretches up all night, so as to get the mob early to-morrow. I was very uneasy about
the water in our tanks, as every hour's delay was of the greatest consequence. I had no very great regret at leaving
this depot, except that I had not been able to push out more than 150 miles to the west from it. I now thought by going
to the new northern range, that my progress thence might be easier. We may perhaps have paid the passing tribute of a
sigh at leaving our little gardens, for the seeds planted in most of them had grown remarkably well. The plants that
throve best here were Indian gram, maize, peas, spinach, pumpkins, beans, and cucumbers; melons also grew pretty well,
with turnips and mustard. Only two wattles out of many dozens sown here came up, and no eucalypts have appeared,
although the seeds of many different kinds were set. Gibson had been most indefatigable in keeping the little gardens
in order, and I believe was really grieved to leave them, but the inexorable mandates of circumstance and duty forced
us from our pleasant places, to wander into ampler realms and spaces, where no foot has left its traces. Departing,
still we left behind us some lasting memorials of our visit to this peculiar place, which, though a city of refuge to
us, was yet a dangerous and a dreadful home. The water supply was now better than when we arrived.

“Our fount disappearing,

From the rain-drop did borrow,

To me comes great cheering,

I leave it to-morrow.”

There were a number of opossums here which often damaged the garden produce in the night. There were various
dull-plumaged small birds, with hawks, crows, and occasionally ducks, and one abominable croaking creature at night
used to annoy me exceedingly, and though I often walked up the glen I could never discover what sort of bird it was. It
might have been a raven; yes, a raven never flitting may be sitting, may be sitting, on those shattered rocks of
wretchedness — on that Troglodytes' shore, where in spirit I may wander, o'er those arid regions yonder; but where I
wish to squander, time and energies no more. Though a most romantic region, its toils and dangers legion, my memory oft
besieging, what time cannot restore; again I hear the shocks of the shattering of the rocks, see the wallabies in
flocks, all trembling at the roar, of the volcanic reverberations, or seismatic detonations, which peculiar sensations
I wish to know no more. The horses were mustered at last, and at length we were about to depart, not certainly in the
direction I should have wished to go, but still to something new.

Fort Mueller, of course, was named after my kind friend the Baron*, who was a personal contributor to the fund for
this expedition. It was really the most astonishing place it has ever been my fortune to visit. Occasionally one would
hear the metallic sounding clang, of some falling rock, smashing into the glen below, toppled from its eminence by some
subterranean tremour or earthquake shock, and the vibrations of the seismatic waves would precipitate the rocks into
different groups and shapes than they formerly possessed. I had many strange, almost superstitious feelings with regard
to this singular spot, for there was always a strange depression upon my spirits whilst here, arising partly perhaps
from the constant dread of attacks from the hostile natives, and partly from the physical peculiarities of the region
itself.

“On all there hung a shadow and a fear,

A sense of mystery, the spirit daunted,

And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,

This region's haunted.”

On the 16th we departed, leaving to the native owners of the soil, this singular glen, where the water flowed only
in the night, where the earthquake and the dry thunderstorm occurred every day, and turned our backs for the last time
upon

It was late on the 16th of January when we left Fort Mueller. We reached our first or Kangaroo Tanks in eleven
miles, so called as we saw several kangaroos there on our first visit; but only having revolvers, we could not get near
enough to shoot any of them. The water had remained in them quite as well as I could expect, but we did not use it that
night. The horses were evidently inclined to ramble back, so we short-hobbled them; but as soon as it became dusk, they
all went off at a gallop. Mr. Tietkens and I went after them, but the wretches would not allow us to get up with them.
The moment they heard us breaking any sticks in the scrubs behind them, off they started again; we had to go five or
six miles before we could get hold of any of them, and it being cloudy and dark, we hardly knew which way to drive them
back; at length we saw the reflection of a fire, and it proved we were taking them right; it was midnight when we got
back. We tied one up and waited for morning, when we found they were all gone again, but having one to ride we thought
to get them pretty soon. It now appeared that in the scrubs and darkness last night we had missed three. Now we had to
use our tank water, the three missing horses not being found by night. The missing horses were found the next day, the
18th, and we continued our journey from these now empty tanks at twelve o'clock, and reached the native clay-pan tanks
by night. The second one we had dug, though well shaded, was quite dry, and the native hole contained only sufficient
for about half the horses. Some drank it all up, the rest going without, but we consoled them with the assurance that
they should have some when we reached the top or Emu Tank. We wanted to fill up our own water-bags, as our supply was
exhausted. On reaching it, however, to our disgust we found it perfectly dry, and as we couldn't get any water, the
only thing to do was to keep pushing on, as far and as fast as we could, towards the Alice Falls. We got some water by
digging in a small Grevillea (beef-wood-tree), water-channel, about three miles this side of it. The horses were
exceedingly thirsty, and some of them when they got water were afflicted with staggers. The grass was beautifully
green. The last few days have been comparatively cool. As the horses had two heavy days' stages, I did not move the
camp, but Mr. Tietkens and I rode off to the main range to explore the gorges we had formerly seen to the east. The
country at the foot of the range was very stony, rough, and scrubby. We reached the mouth of the most easterly gorge,
tied up our horses, and walked up. We very soon came upon a fine deep long rock-reservoir with water running into and
out of it. I could not touch the bottom with over twenty feet of string. The rocky sides of this gorge rose almost
perpendicularly above us, and the farther we went up, the more water we saw, until our passage was completely stopped
by the abruptness of the walls and the depth of the water at their feet; I called this Glen Cumming*. The particular
part or hill of the range on which this reservoir exists I named Mount Russell*; this was the most eastern mount of the
range. We then turned westerly towards the Alice Falls, and in a mile and a half we came to another gorge, where there
was a cascade falling into a very clear round basin over twenty feet deep, washed out of solid white stone. There were
numerous other basins, above and below the large one. I called this place Glen Gerald. Proceeding on our way, we came
to another cascade and basin; the fall of water was from a lesser height. I called this Glen Fielder. From here we went
to the Alice Falls, rested the horses, and had a swim and delicious shower bath. A warm wind from the south-east
prevailed all day.

I wished to find a road through or over this range, but will evidently have to go farther to the west, where at
seven or eight miles there are apparently two separate hummocks. We returned to camp quite charmed with our day's
ramble, although the country was very rough and stony. The vegetation about here is in no way different from any which
exists between this range and Mount Olga. Making a move now in the direction of the two apparently separated hills, we
passed through some scrub of course, and then came to grassy gum-tree or eucalyptus flats, with water-channels. At
twelve miles we came fairly on to the banks of a splendid-looking creek, with several sheets of water; its bed was
broad, with many channels, the intermediate spaces being thickly set with long coarse green rushes. The flow of the
water was to the north, and the creek evidently went through a glen or pass; the timber grew thick and vigorous; the
water had a slightly brackish taste. All through the pass we saw several small sheets of water. One fine hole had great
quantities of ducks on it, but Gibson, who started to shoot some of them, couldn't get his gun to go off, but the
ducks' firearms acted much better, for they went off extremely well.

We encamped at a place near a recent native camp, where the grass was very good. This was evidently a permanently
watered pass, with some excellent country round it to the south.

The range appeared to continue to the west, and this seemed the only pass through it. I called this the Pass of the
Abencerrages — that is to say, the Children of the Saddle. The creek and its waters I named Sladen Water, after the
late Sir Charles Sladen*. This evening, having had a comfortable bath, I was getting my blankets ready for bed when
Jimmy Andrews came rushing over to me. I immediately grabbed a rifle, as I thought it was an attack by the natives. He
merely begged to know what day of the month it was, and requested me to mention the fact, with day and date in my
journal, that — yes, Gibson was actually seen in the act of bathing. I thought Jimmy was joking, as this I could not
believe without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes, but there was the naked form, the splashing water, and
the swimming dog. It was a circumstance well worth recording, for I am sure it is the first full bodied ablution he has
indulged in since leaving Mount Olga, eighteen weeks to a day, and I am not at all sure that he bathed there. It was
therefore with great pleasure that I recorded the unusual circumstance. When Jimmy left me grinning, and I had time to
get over my surprise, and give mature consideration to this unusual matter, it did seem to me better, having the
welfare of the whole of the members of my expedition at heart — I say, it did appear better, on the principle of the
greatest good for the greatest number, that Gibson should endure the agony of an all-over wash, than that we should be
attacked and perhaps killed by the natives.

The flies on this range are evidently very numerous, for their attention to our eyes is not only persistent but very
annoying.

This morning I made the latitude of this pass to be 24° 58´, and longitude 127° 55´. We followed this creek;
travelling along its banks, we found native huts very numerous, and for a few miles some sheets of water were seen; the
bed then became too sandy; its course was about north-west. In eight or nine miles we found that sandhill and casuarina
country existed, and swallowed up the unfortunate creek. The main line of ranges continued westerly, and, together with
another range in front of us to the north, formed a kind of crescent. No pass appeared to exist between them. I now
went to the eastern end of a range that lay to the north of us, and passing over a low ridge had a good view of the
surrounding country. Ranges appeared in almost all directions; the principal ones lay to the west and north-west. One
conspicuous abrupt-faced mount bore north 17° east; this I named Mount Barlee. There were others to the
east-north-east, and the long sweep of the range from which we had come to the south. One hill near us looked inviting,
and we found a deep rocky gorge with water in its neighbourhood. In fact there were several fine rocky basins ten and
twelve feet deep, though they were very rough places to get horses to. I called the high hill Mount Buttfield. It
appeared as if no rain had fallen here lately; the water in all these holes was greenish and stagnant, or stagning as
Gibson and Jimmy called it. The grass, such as there was, was old, white, and dry. The country down below, north-wards,
consisted of open, sandy, level, triodia ground, dotted with a few clumps of the desert oak, giving a most pleasing
appearance to the eye, but its reality is startlingly different, keeping, as it were, the word of promise to the eye,
but breaking it to the hope. While the horses were being collected this morning I ascended Mount Buttfield, and found
that ranges continued to the west for a considerable distance. I now decided to make for a notch or fall in the main
range we had left, which now bore nearly west, as there appeared to be a creek issuing from the hills there. Travelling
over casuarina sandhills and some level triodia ground, we found there was a creek with eucalypts on it, but it was
quite evident that none of the late showers had fallen there. Hardly any grass was to be found, the ground being open
and stony, with thorny vegetation.

In the main channel we could only find deep, rocky, dry basins, but up a small branch gorge I found three small
basins with a very limited supply of water, not sufficient for my horses both now and in the morning, so we thought it
better that they should do without it to-night. Above the camp there was a kind of pound, so we put all the horses up
there, as it was useless to let them ramble all over the country in the night. The ants were excessively troublesome
here. I could not find sufficient shade for the thermometer to-day, but kept it as cool as I could for fear of its
bursting.

This glen, or rather the vegetation which had existed in it, had been recently burned by the natives, and it had in
consequence a still more gloomy and dreary appearance. I called it by its proper name, that is to say, Desolation
Glen.

I could get no rest last night on account of the ants, the wretches almost ate me alive, and the horses tried so
often to pass by the camp that I was delighted at the reappearance of the morn. Mr. Tietkens also had to shift his
camp, and drove the horses back, but ants as big as elephants, or an earthquake that would destroy the world, would
never wake Gibson and Jimmy. It was difficult to get the horses to the place where the water was, and we could only
manage three at a time. There was fortunately just enough water, though none to spare. One old fool of a horse must
needs jump into an empty rock basin; it was deep and funnel shaped, so that he could not stand when he got there, so he
fell, and had knocked himself about terribly before we could get him out. Indeed, I never thought he could come out
whole, and I was preparing to get him out in pieces when he made one last super-equine exertion, and fell up and out at
the same time.

The delay in watering the horses, and extracting Terrible Billy from the basin, made it twelve o'clock before we
could turn our backs upon this hideous place, hoping to find no more like it. We travelled along the stony slope of the
range nearly west, and in less than two miles we crossed a small creek-channel with a thick clump of gum-trees right
under the range. The tops of a second clump were also visible about half a mile off. Mr. Tietkens went to search down
Desolation Creek. I directed Gibson to go on with the horses to the foot of a hill which I pointed out to him, and to
remain there until I overtook him. Up the creek close to the clump of timber the whole glen was choked with a rank
vegetation, beneath which the water ran in a strong and rapid stream that issued to the upper air from the bottom of
the range. In trying to cross this channel, my horse became entangled in the dense vegetation, whose roots, planted in
rich and oozy soil, induced the tops of this remarkable plant to grow ten, twelve, and fifteen feet high. It had a
nasty gummy, sticky feel when touched, and emitted a strong, coarse odour of peppermint. The botanical name of this
plant is Stemodia viscosa. This vegetation was not substantial enough to sustain my horse, and he plunged so violently
that he precipitated me head-first into the oozy, black, boggy mass, and it appeared as though he must be swallowed up
alive. I had in such a place great difficulty in getting my saddle, rifle, revolver, and other gear off the animal's
back. I gave up all hopes of recovering the horse, for he had ceased struggling, and was settling down bodily in the
morass.

I left him and ran shouting after Gibson and Jimmy, but they were too far away; Mr. Tietkens, however, on his way
after them, heard me and rode up. His astonishment was great indeed when I showed him the horse, now deeply imbedded in
the bog. The vegetation could hold us up above the running stream, and at last, but how I never could make out, by dint
of flogging, helping to lift, and yelling at him, the creature, when he found we were trying to help him, interested
himself once more in the matter, and at length we got him out of this bottomless pit. He was white when he went in, but
coal black when he came out. There were no rock-holes at the head of this spring; the water drains from underneath the
mountains, and is permanent beyond a doubt. I called this Luehman's Springs. The water appears on the surface for a
little over a mile. Having re-saddled my dirty black beast, we went to the next gorge, where the clump of eucalyptus
was very thick and fine-looking; the water here springing from the hills as at the last, we were mighty skeery how we
approached this. A fine stream of water ran here.

After this we found five other glens with running springs, in about as many miles; they were named respectively, but
afterwards, Groener's and Tyndall's Springs, the Great Gorge, Fort McKellar*, where I subsequently had a depot, and the
Gorge of Tarns. Fort McKellar is the most western water suitable for a depot, and is the most agreeable encampment.
Many of these glens had fine rock-holes as well as running springs; most of the channels were full of bulrushes and the
peculiar Stemodia. This plant is of a dark-green colour, of a pulpy nature, with a thick leaf, and bears a minute
violet-coloured flower. It seemed very singular that all these waters should exist close to the place I called
Desolation Glen; it appeared as if it must be the only spot on the range that was destitute of water. After some time
spent in exploring these charming places, it was time to look about for the horses, and though Gibson had crossed all
these channels within sight of their waters, he never stopped for a moment to see if the horses would drink. We
expected to overtake him in a mile or two, as the hill pointed out to him was now close at hand. The country was so
solid and stony that we could not follow the tracks of the horses for any distance, they could only be picked up here
and there, but the country being open, though rising and falling into gullies and ridges, we thought to see them at any
moment, so that, as we had found so many waters and the day was Sunday, I wanted to camp early and rest. Gibson,
however, kept driving on, driving on, going in no particular direction — north, north-north-west, north-west,
south-west, north again; and having got such a start of us, it was just night when we overtook him, still driving on up
a dry creek, going due south, slap into the range amongst rocks and stones, etc. I was greatly annoyed, for, having
found six splendid permanent waters, we had to camp without a drop of water either for ourselves or our horses, the
animals being driven about the whole day when they might have had a fine day's rest, with green grass and splendid
water. It is impossible to drill sense into some people's heads; but there — perhaps I had no sense in coming into such
a region myself.

A fierce, warm south wind blew all night; the ants were dreadful, and would not allow me to sleep for a minute,
though the others did not seem to feel them. The range still continued to the west, and other creeks were visible in
that direction, but I decided to return to the last water I had seen — that is to say, at the Gorge of Tarns. Not being
able to sleep, I went after the horses long before daylight, and found they had wandered a terrible distance, although
short-hobbled. I soon found out the cause, for one horse had been loose all night with his pack on, and had
consequently led the others a fine jaunt. When all were found and packed, we returned to the gorge which, in
consequence of its having so many splendid basins of deep water, I named as before said. On arriving, we fixed our camp
close up to the large basins, but the horses could water a mile below, where some tea-tree grew, and where the water
reappeared upon the surface after sinking beneath it. There was some good feed here for the horses, but it was over a
very limited area.

We had a swim in the fine rocky tarn, and we were delighted to be joined by Gibson in our ablutions. Could the
bottom of this pool be cleared of the loose blocks of stone, gravel, and sand, it would doubtless be found of very
great depth; but the rains and floods of ages have nearly filled it with stones, loosened from the upper rocks, and it
is only in the crevices between the rocks at the bottom that one can discover the depth to be greater than seven feet.
Shade here is very scarce when the sun is overhead, except up around the large basin, where there are caves and
overhanging rocky ledges, under which we sit, and over which the splashing waters from their sources above fall into
the tarn below.

The view from the top of the range was very similar to that from Mount Buttfield, only that now to the south we
could see an horizon of scrub. To the north, the natives were burning the spinifex, and this produced such a haze that
no definite view could be obtained. Other portions of the range quite prevented a western view. The altitude of this
summit was a little over 3000 feet above sea level.

Not being able to glean any farther information about the surrounding country, we (con)descended to work in the
shady caves, swimming and working alternately during the day, for we had plenty of the ever-recurring tasks to do,
namely, the repairing of pack-bags and clothes, and the unravelling of canvas for twine.

The first night we passed here was close and hot. We had so much of sewing to do that we set to work with a will;
our clothes also require as much attention as the pack-bags and pack-saddles. No one could conceive the amount of
tearing and patching that is for ever going on; could either a friend or stranger see us in our present garb, our
appearance would scarcely be thought even picturesque; for a more patched and ragged set of tatterdemalions it would be
difficult to find upon the face of the earth. We are not, indeed, actually destitute of clothes, but, saving our best
for future emergencies, we keep continually patching our worst garments, hence our peculiar appearance, as our hats,
shirts, and trousers, are here and there, so quilted with bits of old cloth, canvas, calico, basil, greenhide, and old
blanket, that the original garment is scarcely anywhere visible. In the matter of boots the traveller must be able to
shoe himself as well as his horses in these wild regions of the west. The explorer indeed should be possessed of a good
few accomplishments — amongst these I may enumerate that he should be able to make a pie, shoe himself or his horse,
jerk a doggerel verse or two, not for himself, but simply for the benefit or annoyance of others, and not necessarily
for publication, nor as a guarantee of good faith; he must be able to take, and make, an observation now and again,
mend a watch, kill or cure a horse as the times may require, make a pack-saddle, and understand something of astronomy,
surveying, geography, geology, and mineralogy, et hoc, simile huic.

With regard to shoeing oneself, I will give my reader some idea of what strength is required for boots in this
country. I repaired mine at Fort Mueller with a double sole of thick leather, with sixty horseshoe nails to each boot,
all beautifully clenched within, giving them a soft and Turkish carpet-like feeling to the feet inside; then, with an
elegant corona of nail-heads round the heel and plates at the toes, they are perfect dreadnoughts, and with such
understandings I can tread upon a mountain with something like firmness, but they were nearly the death of me
afterwards for all that.

In the shade of our caves here the thermometer does not rise very high, but in the external glen, where we sleep in
the open air, it is no cooler.

On the 29th we left this cool and shady spot — cool and shady, however, only amongst the caves — and continued our
march still westward, along the slopes of the range.

In eight miles we crossed ten creeks issuing from glens or gorges in the range; all that I inspected had rocky
basins, with more or less water in them. Other creeks were seen ahead, but no view could be got of any horizon to the
west; only the northern and eastern ones being open to our view. The country surrounding the range to the north
appeared to consist of open red sandhills, with casuarina in the hollows between. At sixteen miles I found a large
rocky tarn in a creek-gorge; but little or no grass for the horses — indeed, the whole country at the foot of this
range is very bare of that commodity, except at Sladen Water, where it is excellent.

Since we left Sladen Water the horses have not done well, and the slopes of this range being so rough and stony,
many of them display signs of sorefootedness. I cannot expect the range to continue farther than another day's stage;
and though I cannot see its end, yet I feel 'tis near.

Many delays by visiting places caused it to be very late when we sat down amongst stones and triodia to devour our
frugal supper. A solitary eagle was the monarch of this scene; it was perched upon the highest peak of a bare ridge,
and formed a feathery sky-line when looking up the gorge — always there sat the solemn, solitary, and silent bird, like
the Lorelei on her rock — above — beautifully, there, as though he had a mission to watch the course of passing events,
and to record them in the books of time and fate. There was a larger and semicircular basin still farther up the gorge;
this I called the Circus, but this creek and our rock-hole ever after went by the name of the Circus. In a few miles
the next day I could see the termination of the range. In nine miles we crossed three creeks, then ascended a hill
north of us, and obtained at last a western view. It consisted entirely of high, red sandhills with casuarinas and low
mallee, which formed the horizon at about ten miles. The long range that had brought us so far to the west was at an
end; it had fallen off slightly in altitude towards its western extremity, and a deep bed of rolling sandhill country,
covered with desert vegetation, surrounded it on all sides. Nearer to us, north-westerly, and stretching nearly to
west, lay the dry, irregular, and broken expanse of an ancient lake bed. On riding over to it we found it very
undefined, as patches of sandhills occurred amongst low ridges of limestone, with bushes and a few low trees all over
the expanse. There were patches of dry, soda-like particles, and the soil generally was a loose dust coloured earth.
Samphire bushes also grew in patches upon it, and some patches of our arch-enemy, triodia. Great numbers of wallaby, a
different kind from the rock, were seen amongst the limestone rises; they had completely honeycombed all we inspected.
Water there was none, and if Noah's deluge visited this place it could be conveniently stowed away, and put out of
sight in a quarter of an hour.

Returning to the horses, we turned southerly to the most westerly creek that issues from the range. I found some
water up at the head of it in rock-holes; but it was so far up easterly, that we could not have been more than five or
six miles across the hills from our last night's encampment at the Circus. There was only a poor supply of water in two
small holes, which could not last longer than three days at the most. The thermometer ranged up to 104° to-day. Some of
the horses are now terribly footsore. I would shoe them, only that we are likely to be in the sandhills again
immediately. I did not exactly know which way to go. Mr. Tietkens and I ascended the highest hill in this part of the
range. I had yesterday seen something like the top of a ridge south-westerly; I now found it was part of a low distant
range, and not of a very promising nature. There was a conspicuous mountain, which now bore north-east about fifty
miles away, and I fancied I saw the refracted tops of other ranges floating in the mirage. I thought, from the mountain
just mentioned, I might discover others, which might lead me away to the west. Up to the present time we had always
called this, in consequence of its bearing when first seen, the North-west Mountain. I thought a change of country
might be met with sooner in a north or north-westerly direction than in a west or south-westerly one, as the sources of
the Murchison River must be met somewhere in the former direction. I tried the boiling-point of water here, and found
that the ebullition occurred at two degrees higher than at the Alice Falls, which indicated a fall of nearly 1000 feet,
the western end of the range being much lower than the middle or eastern. We had still a couple of bottles of spirit
left in the medical department, and as nobody seemed inclined to get ill, we opened one here. Jimmy Andrews having been
a sailor boy, I am afraid had learnt bad habits, as he was very fond of grog. When we opened the last bottle at
Christmas, and Jimmy had had a taste, he said, “What's the use of only a nobbler or two? I wouldn't give a d — ” dump,
I suppose he meant, “for grog unless I could get drunk.” I said, “Well, now, my impression is that it would require
very little grog to do that.” He said, “Why, I'd drink six bottles off and never know it.” I said, “Well, the next
bottle we open you shall have as much out of it as you can take in one drink, even if you drink the whole bottle.” He
replied, “Oh, all right, I'll leave a nobbler for you, you know, Mr. Giles; and I'd like to give Tietkens a taste; but
that [adjective] Gibson, I'll swear he won't git none.” So we opened the bottle, and I said, “Now then, Jimmy, here's
your grog, let's see how much you can drink.” “Oh!” said he, “I ain't going to drink it all at once.” “All right,” I
said, “if you don't, we shall — so now is your chance.” Jimmy poured out a good stiff glass and persisted in swallowing
it raw. In five minutes he was fast asleep, and that was all he got out of the bottle; he never woke till morning, and
then — well, the bottle was empty then.

My readers will form a better idea of this peculiar and distant mountain range when I tell them that it is more than
sixty miles long, averaging five or six miles through. It is of a bold and rounded form; there is nothing pointed or
jagged in its appearance anywhere, except where the eagle sat upon the rock at the Circus; its formation is mostly a
white conglomerate, something between granite, marble, and quartz, though some portions are red. It is surrounded,
except to the east, by deserts, and may be called the monarch of those regions where the unvisited mountains stand. It
possesses countless rocky glens and gorges, creeks and valleys, nearly all containing reservoirs of the purest water.
When the Australian summer sunset smooths the roughness of the corrugated range, like a vast and crumpled garment,
spread by the great Creator's hand, east and west before me stretching, these eternal mountains stand. It is a singular
feature in a strange land, and God knows by what beady drops of toilsome sweat Tietkens and I rescued it from its
former and ancient oblivion. Its position in latitude is between the 24th and 25th parallels, and its longitude between
127° 30´ and 128° 30´. I named it the Rawlinson Range, after Sir Henry Rawlinson, President of the Royal Geographical
Society of London. I found a singular moth- and fly-catching, plant in this range; it exudes a gummy substance, by
which insects become attached to the leaves. The appearance of this range from a distance is white, flat, corrugated,
rounded, and treeless. It rises between 1100 and 1200 feet in its highest portions, about the centre, in the
neighbourhood of Fort McKellar, above the surrounding country, though its greatest elevation above the sea is over 3000
feet.

On the 1st of February, after a very hot night, we made a late start for the North-west Mountain, which now bore
nearly north-east. It took some miles to get clear of the stones of the range, the appearance of the new feature we
were steering for being most inviting. Its corrugated front proclaimed the existence of ravines and gorges, while a
more open valley ran between it and some lower hills immediately to the west of it.

The horses were so delighted to get off the stones, that they travelled uncommonly fast, and we got over
twenty-eight miles by night, though the country was exceedingly heavy travelling, being all high, red sandhills, and
until near the end of our day's stage we could scarcely ever see the mountain at all. We encamped without water, but I
expected to get some early next day at the mountain. Two of the horses lay down at the camp all night, being thirsty,
tired, and footsore; there was no grass for them. The thermometer to-day indicated 108° in the shade. A great number of
the horses, from being footsore, were lying down this morning, and when mustered they all looked excessively hollow and
thirsty. If no water be found at this mountain, how many of them will be alive in a couple of days? Yesterday we made
twenty-eight, and to-day at twenty-three, miles we reached the foot of the mount. There was an inviting valley, up
which we took the horses a mile. Then, leaving Gibson and Jimmy to await our return, Mr. Tietkens and I rode away in
search of water. It was evident that only a trifling shower, if any, had visited this range, for not a drop of water
could be found, nor any rock reservoirs where it might lodge. We parted company, and searched separately, but when we
met again we could only report to each other our non-success. It was now past two o'clock, our horses had been ridden
somewhat fast over the most horrible and desolate stony places, where no water is, and they were now in a very
exhausted state, especially Mr. Tietkens's.

There were yet one or two ravines in the southern face of the range, and while I ascended the mountain, Mr. Tietkens
and the others took the horses round that way and searched. From the summit of this sterile mount I had expected at
least a favourable view, but to my intense disappointment nothing of the kind was to be seen. Two little hills only,
bearing 20 and 14° west of north, were the sole objects higher than the general horizon; the latter was formed entirely
of high, red sandhills, with casuarina between. To the east only was a peaked and jagged range, which I called Mount
Robert, after my brother; all the rest was a bed of undulating red sand. What was to be hoped from a region such as
this? Could water exist in it? It was scarcely possible. For an independent watercourse I could not hope, because in
the many hundreds of miles westward from the telegraph line which we had travelled, no creek had been met, except in
the immediate vicinity of ranges, and not a drop of water, so to speak, had I obtained away from these. I was upon the
point of naming this Mount Disappointment, it looked so inviting from a distance, and yet I could find no water; and if
none here, what possibility could there be of getting any in the midst of the dense bed of sandhills beyond? I did not
test the boiling-point of water, for I had none to boil, but the elevation was about 1100 feet above the surrounding
country. From a distance this mount has a very cheering and imposing appearance, and I would have gone to it from
almost any distance, with a full belief in its having water about it. But if, indeed, the inland mountain has really
voice and sound, what I could gather from the sighings of the light zephyrs that fanned my heated brow, as I stood
gazing hopelessly from this summit, was anything but a friendly greeting, it was rather a warning that called me away;
and I fancied I could hear a voice repeating, Let the rash wand'rer here beware; Heaven makes not travellers its
peculiar care.

Descending now, I joined the others at the foot of the hill, when Mr. Tietkens and Gibson informed me they had
searched everywhere, but in vain. The horses were huddled together in the shade of a thicket, three or four of them
lying down with their packs on, and all looking the pictures of wretchedness and woe. It was now past four o'clock, and
there was no alternative but to retreat.

The Gorge of Tarns, thirty miles away, about south-south-west, was the nearest water, but between us and it was
another low range with a kind of saddle or break in the middle. I wished, if possible, to get over this before night,
so we turned the horses' heads in that direction. One fine horse called Diamond seemed suffering more than the rest.
Mr. Tietkens's riding-horse, a small blue roan, a very game little animal that had always carried him well, albeit not
too well treated, was also very bad, and two others were very troublesome to drive along. The saddle in the low range
was a most difficult and stony pass; so dreadfully rough and scrubby was it, I was afraid that night would descend upon
us before we could reach the southern side. Mr. Tietkens's Bluey gave in here, and fell heavily down a stony slope into
a dense thicket of scrub; we had the greatest difficulty in getting him out, and it was only by rolling him over the
stones and down the remainder of the slope, for he could not stand, that we got him to the bottom. He was severely cut
and bruised in the descent. We just managed to get clear of the stones by dark, and unpacked the exhausted animals,
which had been travelling almost ever since daylight. We had no water except a mouthful for the little dog. The
thermometer stood at 108°, ourselves and our horses were choking for water.

In the morning several of the horses were lying dying about the camp; Bluey, Diamond, a little cob — mate or brother
of the one killed on Elder's Creek — and one or two more, while those that were able had wandered away. Though we were
up and after them at three in the morning, it was ten before I could despatch Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy with the main mob.
Poor little Bluey died soon after sunrise. Gibson was after the absent horses, which he brought at length, and we
packed up and went after the others. Gibson's usual riding-horse, Trew, was very bad, and quite unable to carry him.
Mr. Tietkens was now riding an old horse which I had purchased in Victoria, and had owned for some time; he was called
Widge. I had him out on my former expedition. He was a cool, calculating villain, that no ordinary work could kill, and
he was as lively as a cricket when Mr. Tietkens rode him away; he usually carried a pack. Jimmy carried the little dog
Cocky, now nearly dead from thirst and heat, though we had given him the last drop of water we possessed. Dogs, birds,
and large beasts in Australia often die of heat, within sight of water. Jimmy was mounted on a gray-hipped horse, which
was also out on my former trip; he carried his rider well to the end. Gibson I had mounted on a young bay mare, a
creature as good as they make them; she was as merry and gay, as it is possible for any of her sex, even of the human
kind, to be. Her proper name was the Fair Maid of Perth; but somehow, from her lively, troublesome, and wanton
vagaries, they called her the Sow-Cow. My own riding-horse, a small, sleek, cunning little bay, a fine hack with
excellent paces, called W.A., I also had out previously. He would pull on his bridle all day long to eat, he would even
pretend to eat spinifex; he was now very bad and footsore. Gibson and I overtook Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy, and we pushed
on as fast as we could, the distance we had now to go, not being more than ten or eleven miles. The sandhills were
exceedingly high and severe, but all the horses got over the last one.

We were now in full view of the range, with the Gorge of Tarns not more than five miles away. But here Diamond and
another, Pratt, that I had out by myself at the stinking pit in November, fell, never to rise. We took off their packs
and left them on the ground. The thermometer then stood at 106° in the shade. We pushed on, intending to return
immediately with water to the relief of these unfortunates. The pack-horses now presented a demoralised and
disorganised rout, travelling in a long single file, for it was quite impossible to keep the tail up with the leaders.
I shall try to give my reader some slight idea of them, if description is sufficiently palpable to do so. The real
leader was an old black mare, blear-eyed from fly-wounds, for ever dropping tears of salt rheum, fat, large, strong,
having carried her 180 pounds at starting, and now desperately thirsty and determined, knowing to an inch where the
water was; on she went, reaching the stony slopes about two miles from the water. Next came a rather herring-gutted,
lanky bay horse, which having been bought at the Peake, I called Peveril; he was generally poor, but always able, if
not willing, for his work. Then came a big bay cob, and an old flea-bitten gray called Buggs, that got bogged in the
Stemodia viscosa Creek, and a nuggetty-black harness-horse called Darkie, always very fat. These last three carried 200
pounds each at starting. Then Banks, the best saddle-horse I have, and which I had worked too much in dry trips before
reaching this range; he was very much out of sorts and footsore. Then an iron-grey colt, called Diaway, having been
very poor and miserable when first purchased, but he was a splendid horse. Then came the sideways-going old crab,
Terrible Billy. He was always getting into the most absurd predicaments — poor old creature; got down our throats at
last! — falling into holes, and up and down slopes, going at them sideways, without the slightest confidence in
himself, or apparent fear of consequences; but the old thing always did his work well enough. Blackie next, a handsome
young colt with a white stripe down his face, and very fast; and Formby, a bay that had done excellent harness-work
with Diamond on the road to the Peake; he was a great weight-carrier. The next was Hollow Back, who had once been a
fine-paced and good jumping horse, but now only fit for packing; he was very well bred and very game. The next was
Giant Despair, a perfect marvel. He was a chestnut, old, large-framed, gaunt, and bony, with screwed and lately staked
feet. Life for him seemed but one unceasing round of toil, but he was made of iron; no distance and no weight was too
much for him. He sauntered along after the leaders, looking not a whit the worse than when he left the last water,
going neither faster nor slower than his wont. He was dreadfully destructive with his pack-bags, for he would never get
out of the road for anything less than a gum-tree. Tommy and Badger, two of my former expedition horses; Tommy and
Hippy I bought a second time from Carmichael, when coming up to the Peake. Tommy was poor, old, and footsore, the most
wonderful horse for his size in harness I ever saw. Badger, his mate, was a big ambling cob, able to carry a ton, but
the greatest slug of a horse, I ever came across; he seems absolutely to require flogging as a tonic; he must be
flogged out of camp, and flogged into it again, mile after mile, day after day, from water and to it. He was now, as
usual, at the tail of the straggling mob, except Gibson's former riding-horse called Trew. He was an excellent little
horse, but now so terribly footsore he could scarcely drag himself along; he was one of six best of the lot. If I put
them in their order I should say, Banks, the Fair Maid of Perth, Trew, Guts (W.A.), Diaway, Blackie and Darkie, Widge,
the big cob Buggs — the flea-bitten grey — Bluey, Badger, who was a fine ambling saddle-horse, and Tommy; the rest
might range anyhow. The last horse of all was the poor little shadow of a cob, the harness-mate of the one killed at
Elder's Creek. On reaching the stones this poor little ghost fell, never again to rise. We could give him no relief, we
had to push on. Guts gave in on the stones; I let him go and walked to the water. I need scarcely say how thirsty we
all were. On reaching the water, and wasting no time, Mr. Tietkens and I returned to the three fallen horses, taking
with us a supply of water, and using the Fair Maid, Widge, Formby, and Darkie; we went as fast as the horses could go.
On reaching the little cob we found him stark and stiff, his hide all shrivelled and wrinkled, mouth wide open, and
lips drawn back to an extraordinary extent. Pushing on we arrived where Diamond and Pratt had fallen. They also were
quite dead, and must have died immediately after they fell; they presented the same appearance as the little cob. Thus
my visit to the North-west Mountain had cost the lives of four horses, Bluey, Diamond, Pratt, and the cob. The distance
they had to travel was not great — less than ninety miles — and they were only two nights without water; but the heat
was intense, the country frightful, and to get over the distance as soon as possible, we may have travelled rather
fast. The horses had not been well off for either grass or water at starting, and they were mostly footsore; but in the
best of cases, and under the most favourable start from a water, the ephemeral thread of a horse's life may be snapped
in a moment, in the height of an Australian summer, in such a region as this, where that detestable vegetation, the
triodia, and high and rolling sandhills exist for such enormous distances. The very sight of the country, in all its
hideous terrors clad, is sufficient to daunt a man and kill a horse. I called the vile mountain which had caused me
this disaster, Mount Destruction, for a visit to it had destroyed alike my horses and my hopes. I named the range of
which it is the highest point, Carnarvon Range.

We returned again to the Gorge of Tarns, as Mr. Tietkens very tritely remarked, sadder but wiser men. Our position
here is by no means enviable, for although there is plenty of permanent water in this range, it appears to be
surrounded by such extensive deserts that advance or retreat is equally difficult, as now I had no water in tanks or
otherwise between this and Fort Mueller, and not a horse might ever reach that goal. I am again seated under the
splashing fountain that falls from the rocks above, sheltered by the sunless caverns of this Gorge of Tarns, with a
limpid liquid basin of the purest water at my feet, sheltered from the heated atmosphere which almost melts the rocks
and sand of the country surrounding us — sitting as I may well declare in the shadow of a great rock in a weary land,
but we cannot shut out from the mind the perils we have endured, the perils we may yet have to endure. For the present
our wants and those of our gallant horses are supplied, but to the traveller in such a wilderness, when he once turns
his back upon a water, the ever-recurring question presents itself, of when and where shall I obtain more? The explorer
is necessarily insatiable for water; no quantity can satisfy him, for he requires it always and in every place. Life
for water he will at any moment give, for water cannot be done without. Thermometer in outer shade 106°; in the caverns
98°.

We shall have to remain here for a few days. The bare rocks in this glen and the walls of stone that form it become
so heated during the day that the nights passed in it are most oppressive. The rocks have not time to cool before the
sun is upon them again, and at evening, when descending from the caves, we find the thermometer actually rises in the
night air. In the caves during to-day it was 98°, and at eight o'clock at night outside it was 101°. We are pestered
here terribly by flies, but not plagued by either ants or mosquitoes. This evening Gibson and Jimmy shot three
wallabies. This range swarms also with pigeons in every gorge and glen, and they come in clouds at night and morning
for water. Unfortunately nearly all our sporting ammunition is gone, though I have a good supply of defensive. To-day
the thermometer in the caves was only 88° while in the outside shade 104°, the cause being hot winds from the
south-east. While here we shod the most tender-footed of our horses. There was a good deal of thunder and lightning.
The daytime in this gorge is less oppressive than the night. The sun does not appear over the eastern hills until
nearly nine o'clock, and it passes behind the western ones at about 4.15 p.m. The horses cannot recover well here, the
ground being too stony, and the grass and herbage too poor; therefore I shall retreat to the Pass of the Abencerrages
and the pleasant encampment of Sladen Water. One horse, Tommy, was still very bad, and had to be left on the road, not
from want of water, but old age and exhaustion. I sent for him the next day, and he rejoined the mob. We got back on
the 12th of February; there was a fine lot of ducks when we arrived, but those sportsmen Gibson and Jimmy went blazing
away as usual without getting one, wasting the powder and shot, which has now become such a scarcity, and losing and
making the ducks wild into the bargain. The birds were so frightened that they split into several mobs, and only one
mob of eight remained at the pass. I wanted to get these, and went to some trouble to do so. I first walked away and
got a horse, and riding him bare-backed I drove the ducks quietly down to the camp water-hole, but the moment they
arrived, I being behind with the horse, Gibson and Jimmy must needs go blazing away at them again, although they knew
they could never hit any of them; and just as I arrived I heard the report and saw all the ducks come flying overhead
up the pass. They went up therefore through the regions of the air singing sweetly as they went, but I did not sing so
sweetly on the occasion. Then ensued quite a scientific little ornithological lecture on my part, referring mostly to
the order of ducks, and the species known as wild ones more particularly, and I explained the subject to them in such a
plain and forcible manner that both of them admitted they quite understood what I was talking about, which is a great
matter for lecturers to consider, because if, after a forcible harangue, a speaker's audience is in any way mystified,
or not in touch with him as to the meaning of his remarks, why, then, his time and labour are both lost; therefore I
purposely refrained from any ambiguity, and delivered my figures of speech and rounded periods in words suitable for
the most ordinary comprehension, and I really think it had a good effect on both of them. Of course I addressed them
more in sorrow than in anger, although the loss of eight ducks was a frightfully heavy one to all of us; but I was
partially consoled with the thought that they would have to bear their share of the loss. A few hours afterwards I went
after the ducks again, and by good fortune bagged six in one shot; one got away in the bushes, and the other flew away;
and he seemed to me to have a very crooked flew at that. These were the fattest birds I ever ate. We had a fine supper
of ducks, their flavour being sup(p)er-excellent.

Dragged by Diaway.

Attack at Sladen Water.

The ants were terribly troublesome at this waterhole, although we slept on the damp sand; so we shifted the camp up
to the sweet water-hole, and selected as open a piece of ground as possible, as I intended the camp to remain here for
a week or two. More thunder and lightning, with great heat and a few drops of rain. Thermometer, 106°. There were
countless numbers of the little cockatoo parrots here; they are very shy, and even when Gibson or Jimmy lets off a gun
at them, a dozen or two are sure to fall; it takes some time, however, before another shot can be had at them. I fancy
they are migrating. The pigeons swarm at night to water. I intend to visit the ridges which I mentioned as lying to the
south-west, from the west end of this range. We shod the old black mare, Diaway, and old Buggs, to take with us. The
18th of February, 1874, was like to have proved a most eventful day in my life, for it was very nearly the termination
of it. I was riding Diaway, the colt just shod; he is seldom ridden, though a very fine hack, as he is such a splendid
weight-carrier as a packhorse; he is rather skittish, and if anything goes wrong with his pack, he'll put it right (on
the ground) almost instantaneously. I was driving all the horses up to the camp, when one broke from the mob, and
galloped across the creek. There was a bank of stones about three feet high, which was hidden by a growth of rushes;
Diaway went bounding over the great bushes and inequalities of the channel, and reached the bank without seeing it,
until too late, when he made a bound at, but fell on the top of, it, rolling over upon me at the same time. He
scrambled up, but left me on the broad of my back. On my feet were those wonderful boots before described, with the
sixty horseshoe nails in each, and it was no wonder that one of my feet got caught in the stirrup on the off side of
the horse. It is one of the most horrible positions that the mind can well imagine, to contemplate being dragged by a
horse. I have been dragged before now, and only escaped by miracles on each occasion. In this case, Diaway, finding me
attached to him, commenced to lash out his newly shod heels at me, bounding away at the same time into a dense thicket
of scrub close by. Mr. Tietkens and the others seeing the accident came running up behind, as Diaway and I were
departing. Fortunately I was not dragged far, but was literally kicked free from and by, the frightened and
uncontrolled animal. The continual kickings I received — some on my legs and body, but mostly upon that portion of the
frame which it is considered equally indecorous to present either to a friend or an enemy — at length bent one or two
of the nail-heads which held me, and, tearing the upper leather off my boot, which fortunately was old, ripped it off,
leaving me at length free. As I lay on my excoriated back, I saw Diaway depart without me into the scrub, with feelings
of the most profound delight, although my transports were considerably lessened by the agonising sensations I
experienced. Mr. Tietkens helped me to hobble over to the camp in a most disorganised state, though thanking Providence
for so fortunate an escape. Had Diaway but entered the scrub not two yards from where I was released, I could not have
existed more than a minute. The following day Mr. Tietkens was getting everything ready to go with me to the south-west
ridges, though I had great doubts of my ability to ride, when we became aware of the presence of a whole host of
natives immediately below the camp. All the morning the little dog had been strangely perturbed, and we knew by the
natives' fires that they were in our immediate neighbourhood. There was so much long grass and tall rushes in the creek
bed, that they could approach very close before we could possibly see them. So soon as they found themselves detected,
as usual they set up the most horrible yells, and, running up on the open ground, sent a flight of spears at us before
a rifle or a gun could be seized, and we had to jump behind a large bush, that I left standing on purpose, to escape.
Our stand of arms was there, and we immediately seized them, sending the bullets flying just above their heads and at
their feet. The report of the weapons and the whirring sound of the swiftly passing shots made them pause, and they
began an harangue, ordering us out of their territories, to the south. Seeing us, however, motionless and silent, their
courage returned, and again they advanced, uttering their war cries with renewed energy. Again the spears would have
been amongst us; but I, not relishing even the idea of barbed spears being stuck through my body, determined not to
permit either my own or any of my party's lives to be lost for the sake of not discharging my firearms. Consequently we
at length succeeded in causing a rout, and driving the enemy away. There were a great number of natives in the bushes,
besides those who attacked us. There were not many oldish men among them, only one with grey hair. I am reminded here
to mention that in none of my travels in these western wilds have I found any places of sepulture of any kind. The
graves are not consumed by the continual fires that the natives keep up in their huntings, for that would likewise be
the fate of their old and deserted gunyahs, which we meet with frequently, and which are neither all nor half
destroyed. Even if the natives put no boughs or sticks upon their graves, we must see some mounds or signs of
burial-places, if not of bones or skulls. My opinion is, that these people eat their aged ones, and most probably those
who die from natural causes also.

It was a cool, breezy day, and, in consequence of the hostile action of the natives, I did not depart on the
south-west excursion. I was not sorry to delay my departure, for I was in great pain all over. I now decided to leave
Mr. Tietkens and take Jimmy with me. I cannot say I anticipate making any valuable discovery on this trip; for had
there been ranges of any elevation to the westward, or beyond the ridges in question, I should in all probability have
seen them from the end of this range, and should have visited them in preference to Mount Destruction. I felt it
incumbent on me to visit them, however, as from them I might obtain a view of some encouraging features beyond.

Chapter 2.8. From 20th February to 12th March, 1874.

Journey south-west. Glens and springs. Rough watering-place. A marble bath. Glassy rocks. Swarms of
ants. Solitary tree. An oven. Terrible night. And day. Wretched appearance of the horses. Mountains of sand. Hopeless
view. Speculations. In great pain. Horses in agony. Difficulty in watering them. Another night of misery. Dante's
Inferno. The waters of oblivion. Return to the pass. Dinner of carrion. A smoke-house. Tour to the east. Singular
pinnacle. Eastern ranges. A gum creek. Basins of water. Natives all around. Teocallis. Horrid rites. A chip off the old
block. A wayside inn. Gordon's Springs.

Taking Jimmy and three horses, we travelled, after clearing the pass, on the south slopes of the range westward,
crossing several small creek-channels, which might or might not have waters in them. At twelve miles we came to a
green-looking channel and found water, running so far down as a rocky hole, near where we crossed. We outspanned here
for an hour, as I found riding very severe toil after my late kicking. I named this secluded but pretty little spot,
Glen Helen. It was very rough travelling ground — worse than on the northern side of the range. Three miles farther, we
crossed another running water, and called it Edith Hull's Springs. At ten miles farther, after crossing several
channels, we turned up one, and got some water in a very rough and stony gorge off the main channel, which was dry.
There was very poor feed, but we were compelled to remain, as there was no other creek in sight for some miles, and the
horses, although shod, could only travel slowly over the terribly rough ground. When we turned them out, they preferred
to stand still, rather than roam about among the rocks and boulders for food. The day was cool; the southern horizon,
the only one we could see, was bounded entirely by red sandhills and casuarina timber. The horses ate nothing all
night, and stood almost where they were hobbled.

In this region, and in the heat of summer, the moment horses, no matter how fat and fresh they may be, are taken
away from their companions to face the fearful country that they know is before them, they begin to fret and fall away
visibly. They will scarcely eat, and get all the weaker in consequence, and then they require twice as much water as
they otherwise would if their insides were partly filled with grass. When I released our three from the hobbles this
morning, they immediately pretended to feed; but this old ruse has been experienced before, and time was now up, to
move on again. They were very thirsty, and nearly emptied the rock basin, where we had a kind of bath before starting.
Along the foot-hills over which we were obliged to travel, the country was much rougher than yesterday; so much so,
that I kept away as much as possible. At twenty miles we turned up a creek-channel, which proved to be a dreadful
gorge, being choked up with huge boulders of red and white granite. Among these I found a fine rock tarn; indeed, I
might call it a marble bath, for the rock was almost pure white, and perfectly bare all round. The water was
considerably over our heads, and felt as cold as ice. It was a dreadful place to get horses up to, and two of them fell
two or three times on the glassy, shelving, and slippery rocks. The old grey, Buggs, hurt himself a good deal.

Time seems to fly in these places, except when you want it to do so, and by the time the horses got down from the
water the day was nearly gone. The feed for them was very little better than at our last night's camp, nor was the glen
any less stony or rough. The day was 12° hotter than yesterday; the thermometer indicated 104°. The ants in this glen
were frightful; they would not allow me a moment's rest anywhere. There was but one solitary eucalyptus or gum-tree,
and in its scanty shade they swarmed in countless myriads. The sun poured his fiery beams full down upon us, and it was
not until he departed over the cliffs to the west that we had a moment's respite; the place was a perfect oven.

I passed the time mostly in the marble bath, and then took a walk up to the top of the range and could see the hills
I desired to visit; they now bore nearly south-west. So long as the sun's rays were pouring down upon their unsheltered
hides, the horses would not attempt to eat, but when he departed they fed a little on the coarse vegetation. This glen,
like all the others in this range, swarmed with pigeons, and we got enough for breakfast at one shot. During the hot
months, I believe whites could live entirely on pigeons in this range. At the camp at Sladen Water they came to the
water in clouds, their very numbers sometimes preventing us getting a good shot, and we had been living entirely on
them, for now we had no other meat. Unfortunately, our ammunition is almost exhausted, but so long as it lasts we shall
have birds. When it is gone we must eat horseflesh, and should have been driven to do so before now, only for these
birds. I have an old horse now fattening for the knife, and I am sorry, i.e. happy, to say, whenever I inspect him he
looks better. The one I mean is the old sideways-going Terrible Billy. Poor old creature! To work so many years as he
has done for man, and then to be eaten at last, seems a hard fate; but who or what can escape that inexorable shadow,
death?

It may be the destiny of some of ourselves to be eaten; for I fully believe the natives of these regions look upon
all living organisms as grist for their insatiable mills. As night came on, I was compelled to lie down at last, but
was so bitten and annoyed by the ants, that I had to keep moving about from place to place the whole night long, while
the [in]sensible Jimmy lay sleeping and snoring, though swarmed over and almost carried away by the ants, as peacefully
as though he had gone to rest under the canopy of costly state, and lulled with sounds of sweetest melody. I could not
help moralising, as I often stood near him, wondering at his peace and placidity, upon the differences of our mental
and physical conditions: here was one human being, young and strong, certainly, sleeping away the, to me, dreary hours
of night, regaining that necessary vigour for the toils of the coming day, totally oblivious of swarms of creeping
insects, that not only crawled all over him, but constantly bit into his flesh; while another, who prided himself
perhaps too much upon the mental powers bestowed by God upon him, was compelled by the same insects to wander through
the whole night, from rock to rock and place to place, unable to remain for more than a moment or two anywhere; and to
whom sleep, under such circumstances, was an utter impossibility. Not, indeed, that the loss of sleep troubles me, for
if any one could claim to be called the sleepless one, it would be I— that is to say, when engaged in these arduous
explorations, and curtained by night and the stars; but, although I can do without sleep, I require a certain amount of
horizontal repose, and this I could not obtain in this fearful glen. It was, therefore, with extreme pleasure that I
beheld the dawn, and:—

“To the eastward where, cluster by cluster,

Dim stars and dull planets that muster,

Waxing wan in a world of white lustre,

That spread far and high.”

No human being could have been more pleased than I at the appearance of another day, although I was yet doomed to
several hours more misery in this dreadful gorge. The pigeons shot last night were covered within and without by ants,
although they had been put in a bag. The horses looked wretched, even after watering, and I saw that it was actually
necessary to give them a day's rest before I ventured with them into the frightful sandhills which I could see
intervened between us and the distant ridges. Truly the hours I spent in this hideous gorge were hours of torture; the
sun roasted us, for there was no shade whatever to creep into; the rocks and stones were so heated that we could
neither touch, nor sit upon them, and the ants were more tormenting than ever. I almost cried aloud for the mountains
to fall upon me, and the rocks to cover me. I passed several hours in the marble bath, the only place the ants could
not encroach upon, though they swarmed round the edge of the water. But in the water itself were numerous little
fiendish water-beetles, and these creatures bit one almost as badly as the ants. In the bath I remained until I was
almost benumbed by the cold. Then the sunshine and the heat in the gorge would seem delightful for a few minutes, till
I became baked with heat again. The thermometer stood at 106° in the shade of the only tree. At three p.m. the horses
came up to water. I was so horrified with the place I could no longer remain, though Jimmy sat, and probably slept, in
the scanty one tree's shade, and seemed to pass the time as comfortably as though he were in a fine house. In going up
to the water two of the horses again fell and hurt themselves, but the old blear-eyed mare never slipped or fell. At
four p.m. we mounted, and rode down the glen until we got clear of the rough hills, when we turned upon our proper
course for the ridges, which, however, we could not see. In two or three miles we entered the sandhill regions once
more, when it soon rose into hills. The triodia was as thick and strong as it could grow. The country was not, so to
say, scrubby, there being only low bushes and scrubs on the sandhills, and casuarina trees of beautiful outline and
appearance in the hollows. When the horses got clear of the stones they began to eat everything they could snatch and
bite at.

At fifteen miles from the gorge we encamped on a patch of dry grass. The horses fed pretty well for a time, until
the old mare began to think it time to be off, and she soon would have led the others back to the range. She dreaded
this country, and knew well by experience and instinct what agony was in store for her. Jimmy got them back and
short-hobbled them. There were plenty of ants here, but nothing to be compared to the number in the gorge, and having
to remove my blankets only three or four times, I had a most delightful night's rest, although, of course, I did not
sleep. The horses were sulky and would not eat; therefore they looked as hollow as drums, and totally unfit to traverse
the ground that was before them. However, this had to be done, or at least attempted, and we got away early. We were in
the midst of the sandhills, and here they rose almost into mountains of sand. It was most fatiguing to the horses, the
thermometer 104° in the shade when we rested at twenty-two miles. Nor was this the hottest time of the day. We had been
plunging through the sand mountains, and had not sighted the ridges, for thirty-seven miles, till at length we found
the nearest were pretty close to us. They seemed very low, and quite unlikely to produce water. Reaching the first, we
ascended it, and I could see at a glance that any prospect of finding water was utterly hopeless, as these low ridges,
which ran north and south, were merely a few oblique-lying layers of upheaved granite, not much higher than the
sandhills which surrounded them, and there was no place where water could lodge even during rains. Not a rise could be
seen in any direction, except, of course, from where we had come. We went on west five or six miles farther to the end
of these, just about sundown: and long, indeed, will that peculiar sunset rest in my recollection. The sun as usual was
a huge and glaring ball of fire that with his last beams shot hot and angry glances of hate at us, in rage at our
defiance of his might. It was so strange and so singular that only at this particular sunset, out of the millions which
have elapsed since this terrestrial ball first floated in ether, that I, or indeed any White man, should stand upon
this wretched hill, so remote from the busy haunts of my fellow men. My speculations upon the summit, if, indeed, so
insignificant a mound can be said to have a summit, were as wild and as incongruous as the regions which stretched out
before me. In the first place I could only conclude that no water could exist in this region, at least as far as the
sand beds extend. I was now, though of course some distance to the south also, about thirty miles to the west of the
most western portion of the Rawlinson Range.

From that range no object had been visible above the sandhills in any westerly direction, except these ridges I am
now upon, and from these, if any other ranges or hills anywhere within a hundred miles of the Rawlinson existed, I must
have sighted them. The inference to be drawn in such a case was, that in all probability this kind of country would
remain unaltered for an enormous distance, possibly to the very banks of the Murchison River itself. The question very
naturally arose, Could the country be penetrated by man, with only horses at his command, particularly at such a heated
time of year? Oh, would that I had camels! What are horses in such a region and such a heated temperature as this? The
animals are not physically capable of enduring the terrors of this country. I was now scarcely a hundred miles from the
camp, and the horses had plenty of water up to nearly halfway, but now they looked utterly unable to return. What a
strange maze of imagination the mind can wander in when recalling the names of those separated features, the only ones
at present known to supply water in this latitude — that is to say, the Murchison River, and this new-found Rawlinson
Range, named after two Presidents of the Royal Geographical Society of London. The late and the present, the living and
the dead, physically and metaphysically also, are not these features, as the men, separated alike by the great gulf of
the unknown, by a vast stretch of that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns?

The sun went down, and I returned to my youthful companion with the horses below. We were fifty-one miles from the
water we had left. The horses were pictures of misery, old Buggs's legs had swelled greatly from the contusions he had
received in falling on the slippery rocks. The old black mare which I rode, though a sorry hack, looked worse than I
had ever seen her before, and even the youthful and light-heeled and -hearted Diaway hung his head, and one could
almost span him round the flanks. The miserable appearance of the animals was caused as much by want of food as want of
water, for they have scarcely eaten a mouthful since we left the pass; indeed, all they had seen to eat was not
inviting.

We slowly left these desolate ridges behind, and at fifteen miles we camped, Jimmy and I being both hungry and
thirsty. Our small supply of water only tantalised, without satisfying us whenever we took a mouthful. We now found we
had nothing to eat, at least nothing cooked, and we had to sacrifice a drop of our stock of water to make a
Johnny-cake. It was late by the time we had eaten our supper, and I told Jimmy he had better go to sleep if he felt
inclined; I then caught and tied up the horses, which had already rambled some distance away. When I got back I found
Jimmy had literally taken me at my word; for there he was fast asleep among the coals and ashes of the fire, in which
we had cooked our cake. I rolled him over once or twice to prevent him catching fire, but he did not awake. The night
was very warm; I tried to lay down on my rug, but I was in such pain all over from my recent accident, that I could not
remain still. I only waited to allow Jimmy a little sleep, or else he would have fallen off his horse, and caused more
delay. I walked to, and tried to console, the horses. Sleepless and restless, I could no longer remain.

Fast asleep is Armor lying — do not touch him, do not wake him; but Armor had to be awakened. But first I saddled
and put up everything on the horses. Jimmy's lips were cracked and parched, and his tongue dry and half out of his
mouth; I thought the kindest way to wake him was to pour a little water into his mouth. Up he jumped in a moment, and
away we went at three o'clock in the morning, steering by the stars until daylight; slowly moving over sandhill after
sandhill. Soon after sunrise we fell in with our outgoing track, and continued on, though we had great trouble to keep
the horses going at all, until we reached our old encampment of the night before last, being now only fifteen miles
from the water. For the last few miles the horses had gone so dreadfully slow, I thought they would give in altogether.
So soon as they were unsaddled they all lay down, shivering and groaning fearfully.

To see a horse in a state of great thirst is terrible, the natural cavity opens to an extraordinary size, and the
creature strains and makes the most lamentable noises. Mares are generally worse in these cases than horses. Old Buggs
and the mare were nearly dead. Diaway suffered less than the others. We had yet a small quantity of water in our bag,
and it was absolutely necessary to sacrifice it to the horses if we wished them ever to return. We had but three pints,
which we gave to Buggs and the mare, Diaway getting none. What the others got was only just enough to moisten their
tongues. Leaving this place at eleven a.m., we reached the gorge at sundown, travelling at the rate of only two miles
an hour. The day was hot, 104° at eleven a.m. When we took the saddles off the horses, they fell, as they could only
stand when in motion — old Buggs fell again in going up the gorge; they all fell, they were so weak, and it took nearly
an hour to get them up to the bath. They were too weak to prevent themselves from slipping in, swimming and drinking at
the same time; at last old Buggs touched the bottom with his heels, and stood upon his hind-legs with his forefeet
against the rock wall, and his head bent down between, and drank thus. I never saw a horse drink in that fashion
before.

It was very late when we got them back to the camp-tree, where we let them go without hobbles. The ants were as
rampant as ever, and I passed another night in walking up and down the glen. Towards midnight the horses came again for
water, but would not return, preferring to remain till morning rather than risk a passage down in the dark.

I went right up to the top of the mountain, and got an hour's peace before the sun rose. In the morning all the
horses' legs were puffed and swelled, and they were frightened to move from the water. I had great trouble in getting
them down at all. It was impossible to ride them away, and here we had to remain for another day, in this Inferno. Not
Dante's, gelid lowest circle of Hell, or city of Dis, could cause more anguish, to a forced resident within its bounds,
than did this frightful place to me. Even though Moses did omit to inflict ants on Pharaoh, it is a wonder Dante never
thought to have a region of them full of wicked wretches, eternally tortured with their bites, and stings, and smells.
Dante certainly was good at imagining horrors. But imagination can't conceive the horror of a region swarming with ants
and then Dante never lived in an ant country, and had no conception what torture such creatures can inflict. The
smaller they are the more terrible. My only consolation here was my marble bath, which the horses had polluted; within
its cool and shady depths I could alone find respite from my tormentors. Oh, how earnestly did I wish that its waters
were the waters of oblivion, or that I could quaff some kind nepenthe, which would make me oblivious of my woes, for
the persistent attacks of the ants unceasingly continued

“From night till morn, from morn till dewy eve.”

Here of course we had no dewy eve. Only one slight source of pleasure at length occurred to me, and that was, that
Jimmy began to shift about a bit at last. On the 26th, with what delight I departed from this odious gorge after
another night of restlessness, agony, and misery, may perhaps be imagined, though of course I was indebted to the glen
for water, and unless we actually give up our lives, we cannot give up that. There was a good deal of water in this
bath, as may be supposed when horses could swim about in it. I called it Edith's Marble Bath, after my niece, having
named Glen Edith also after her on my former expedition. The stone here is not actually marble, though very like it. I
saw no limestone in this range; the only approach to it is in the limestone formation in the bed of the ancient Lake
Christopher, mentioned as lying to the west of the Rawlinson Range. The stone here was a kind of milky quartz. We kept
away as much as possible off the rough slopes of the range, and got to Glen Helen at night, but old Buggs knocked up,
and we had to lead, beat, and drive him on foot, so that it was very late before we got to the glen. We got all three
horses back to the pass early the next day. No natives had appeared, but the horses had never been seen since I left.
Oh, didn't I sleep that night! no ants. Oh, happiness! I hadn't slept for a week.

The next day, the 28th of February, Gibson and Jimmy went to look for the mob of horses. There was a watering-place
about two miles and a half south from here, where emus used to water, and where the horses did likewise; there they
found all the horses. There was a very marked improvement in their appearance, they had thriven splendidly. There is
fine green feed here, and it is a capital place for an explorer's depot, it being such an agreeable and pretty spot.
Gibson and Jimmy went to hunt for emus, but we had none for supper. We got a supply of pigeons for breakfast. Each day
we more deeply lament that the end of our ammunition is at hand. For dinner we got some hawks, crows, and parrots. I
don't know which of these in particular disagreed with me, but I suppose the natural antipathy of these creatures to
one another, when finding themselves somewhat crowded in my interior, was casus belli enough to set them quarrelling
even after death and burial; all I knew was the belli was going on in such a peculiar manner that I had to abandon my
dinner almost as soon as I had eaten it. It is now absolutely necessary to kill a horse for food, as our ammunition is
all but gone. Mr. Tietkens and I went to find a spot to erect a smoke-house, which required a soft bank for a flue; we
got a place half a mile away. Thermometer 104°. Mr. Tietkens and I commenced operations at the smoke-house, and the
first thing we did was to break the axe handle. Gibson, who thought he was a carpenter, blacksmith, and
jack-of-all-trades by nature, without art, volunteered to make a new one, to which no one objected. The new handle
lasted until the first sapling required was almost cut in two, when the new handle came in two also; so we had to
return to the camp, while Gibson made another handle on a new principle. With this we worked while Gibson and Jimmy
shod a couple of horses. A pair of poking brutes of horses are always away by themselves, and Mr. Tietkens and I went
to look for, but could not find them. We took the shovel and filled up the emu water-hole with sand, so that the horses
had to show themselves with the others at the pass at night. For two or three days we shod horses, shot pigeons, and
worked at the smoke-house. I did not like the notion of killing any of the horses, and determined to make a trip
eastwards, to see what the country in that direction was like. We chopped up some rifle bullets for shot, to enable
Gibson and Jimmy to remain while we were away, as a retreat to Fort Mueller from here was a bitter idea to me. Before I
can attempt to penetrate to the west, I must wait a change in the weather. The sky was again becoming cloudy, and I had
hopes of rain at the approaching equinox.

The three horses we required for the trip we put down through the north side of the pass. On March 10th, getting our
horses pretty easily, we started early. As soon as we got clear of the pass on the north side, almost immediately in
front of us was another pass, lying nearly east, which we reached in five miles. I called this the Weld Pass. From
hence we had a good view of the country farther east. A curved line of abrupt-faced hills traversed the northern
horizon; they had a peculiar and wall-like appearance, and seemed to end at a singular-looking pinnacle thirty-four or
five miles away, and lying nearly east. This abrupt-faced range swept round in a half circle, northwards, and thence to
the pinnacle. We travelled along the slopes of the Rawlinson Range, thinking we might find some more good gorges before
it ended, we being now nearly opposite the Alice Falls. One or two rough and stony gullies, in which there was no
water, existed; the country was very rough. I found the Rawlinson Range ended in fifteen or sixteen miles, at the Mount
Russell* mentioned before. Other ranges rose up to the east; the intervening country seemed pretty well filled with
scrub. We pushed on for the pinnacle in the northern line, but could not reach it by night as we were delayed en route
by searching in several places for water. The day was hot, close, cloudy, and sultry. In front of us now the country
became very scrubby as we approached the pinnacle, and for about three miles it was almost impenetrable. We had to stop
several times and chop away limbs and boughs to get through, when we emerged on the bank of a small gum creek, and,
turning up its channel, soon saw some green rushes in the bed. A little further up we saw more, brighter and greener,
and amongst them a fine little pond of water. Farther up, the rocks rose in walls, and underneath them we found a
splendid basin of overflowing water, which filled several smaller ones below. We could hear the sound of splashing and
rushing waters, but could not see from whence those sounds proceeded. This was such an excellent place that we decided
to remain for the rest of the day. The natives were all round us, burning the country, and we could hear their cries.
This morning we had ridden through two fresh fires, which they lit, probably, to prevent our progress; they followed us
up to this water. I suppose they were annoyed at our finding such a remarkably well-hidden place. It is a very singular
little glen. There are several small mounds of stones placed at even distances apart, and, though the ground was
originally all stones, places like paths have been cleared between them. There was also a large, bare, flat rock in the
centre of these strange heaps, which were not more than two and a half feet high. I concluded — it may be said
uncharitably, but then I know some of the ways and customs of these people — that these are small kinds of teocallis,
and that on the bare rock already mentioned the natives have performed, and will again perform, their horrid rites of
human butchery, and that the drippings of the pellucid fountains from the rocky basins above have been echoed and
re-echoed by the dripping fountains of human gore from the veins and arteries of their bound and helpless victims.
Though the day was hot, the shade and the water were cool, and we could indulge in a most luxurious bath. The largest
basin was not deep, but the water was running in and out of it, over the rocks, with considerable force. We searched
about to discover by its sound from whence it came, and found on the left-hand side a crevice of white quartz-like
stone, where the water came down from the upper rocks, and ran away partly into the basins and partly into rushes,
under our feet. On the sloping face of the white rock, and where the water ran down, was a small indent or smooth chip
exactly the size of a person's mouth, so that we instinctively put our lips to it, and drank of the pure and gushing
element. I firmly believe this chip out of the rock has been formed by successive generations of the native population,
for ages placing their mouths to and drinking at this spot; but whether in connection with any sacrificial ceremonies
or no, deponent knoweth, and sayeth not. The poet Spenser, more than three hundred years ago, must have visited this
spot — at least, in imagination, for see how he describes it:—

“And fast beside there trickled softly down,

A gentle stream, whose murmuring waves did play

Amongst the broken stones, and made a sowne,

To lull him fast asleep, who by it lay:

The weary traveller wandering that way

Therein might often quench his thirsty heat,

And then by it, his weary limbs display;

(Whiles creeping slumber made him to forget

His former pain), and wash away his toilsome sweet.”

Gill's Pinnacle.

There is very poor grazing ground round this water. It is only valuable as a wayside inn, or out. I called the
singular feature which points out this water to the wanderer in these western wilds, Gill's Pinnacle, after my
brother-in-law, and the water, Gordon's Springs, after his son. In the middle of the night, rumblings of thunder were
heard, and lightnings illuminated the glen. When we were starting on the following morning, some aborigines made their
appearance, and vented their delight at our appearance here by the emission of several howls, yells, gesticulations,
and indecent actions, and, to hem us in with a circle of fire, to frighten us out, or roast us to death, they set fire
to the triodia all round. We rode through the flames, and away.

Map 3
Australia, Showing The Several Routes.

Chapter 2.9. From 12th March to 19th April, 1874.

The Rebecca. The Petermann range. Extraordinary place. The Docker. Livingstone's Pass. A park.
Wall-like hills. The Ruined Rampart. Pink, green, and blue water. Park-like scenery. The Hull. A high cone. Sugar-loaf
Peak. Pretty hills and grassy valleys. Name several features. A wild Parthenius. Surprise a tribe of natives. An
attack. Mount Olga in view. Overtaken by the enemy. Appearance of Mount Olga. Breakfast interrupted. Escape by flight.
The depot. Small circles of stone. Springs. Mark a tree. Slaughter Terrible Billy. A smoke signal. Trouble in
collecting the horses. A friendly conference. Leave Sladen Water. Fort McKellar. Revisit the Circus. The west end of
the range. Name two springs.

The country towards the other ranges eastwards appeared poor and scrubby. We went first to a hill a good deal south
of east, and crossed the dry bed of a broad, sandy, and stony creek running north. I called it the Rebecca. From it we
went to a low saddle between two hills, all the while having a continuous range to the north; this was the extension
beyond the pinnacle of the wall-like crescent. A conspicuous mount in this northern line I called Mount Sargood*. From
this saddle we saw a range of hills which ran up from the south-west, and, extending now eastwards, formed a valley
nearly in front of us. I called this new feature the Petermann Range. In it, a peculiar notch existed, to which we
went. This new range was exceedingly wall-like and very steep, having a serrated ridge all along; I found the notch to
be only a rough gully, and not a pass. We continued along the range, and at four miles farther we came to a pass where
two high hills stood apart, and allowed an extremely large creek — that is to say, an extremely wide one — whose trend
was northerly, to come through. Climbing one of the hills, I saw that the creek came from the south-west, and was here
joined by another from the south-east. There was an exceedingly fine and pretty piece of park-like scenery, enclosed
almost entirely by hills, the Petermann Range forming a kind of huge outside wall, which enclosed a mass of lower hills
to the south, from which these two creeks find their sources. This was a very extraordinary place; I searched in vain
in the pass for water, and could not help wondering where such a watercourse could go to. The creek I called the
Docker*. The pass and park just within it I called Livingstone Pass and Learmonth* Park. Just outside the pass,
northerly, was a high hill I called Mount Skene*.

View on the Petermann Range.

Finding no water in the pass, we went to the more easterly of the two creeks; it was very small compared with the
Docker. It was now dusk, and we had to camp without water. The day was hot. This range is most singular in
construction; it rises on either side almost perpendicularly, and does not appear to have very much water about it; the
hills indeed seem to be mere walls, like the photographs of some of the circular ranges of mountains in the moon. There
was very fine grass, and our horses stayed well. We had thunder and lightning, and the air became a little cooled. The
creek we were on appeared to rise in some low hills to the south; though it meandered about so much, it was only by
travelling, we found that it came from a peculiar ridge, upon whose top was a fanciful-looking, broken wall or rampart,
with a little pinnacle on one side. When nearly abreast, south, of this pinnacle, we found some water in the creek-bed,
which was now very stony. The water was impregnated with ammonia from the excreta of emus, dogs, birds, beasts, and
fishes, but the horses drank it with avidity. Above this we got some sweet water in rocks and sand. I called the
queer-looking wall the Ruined Rampart. There was a quantity of different kinds of water, some tasting of ammonia, some
saltish, and some putrid. A few ducks flew up from these strange ponds. There was an overhanging ledge and cave, which
gave us a good shade while we remained here, the morning being very hot. I called these MacBain's* Springs.

Following the creek, we found in a few miles that it took its rise in a mass of broken table-lands to the south. We
still had the high walls of the Petermann to the north, and very close to us. In five miles we left this water-shed,
and descended the rough bed of another creek running eastwards; it also had some very queer water in it — there were
pink, green, and blue holes. Ducks were also here; but as we had no gun, we could not get any. Some sweet water was
procured by scratching in the sand. This creek traversed a fine piece of open grassy country — a very park-like piece
of scenery; the creek joined another, which we reached in two or three miles. The new creek was of enormous width; it
came from the low hills to the south and ran north, where the Petermann parted to admit of its passage. The natives
were burning the country through the pass. Where on earth can it go? No doubt water exists in plenty at its head, and
very likely where the natives are also; but there was none where we struck it. I called this the Hull*.

The main range now ran on in more disconnected portions than formerly; their general direction was 25° south of
east. We still had a mass of low hills to the south. We continued to travel under the lea of the main walls, and had to
encamp without water, having travelled twenty-five miles from the Ruined Rampart. A high cone in the range I called
Mount Curdie*. The next morning I ascended the eastern end of Mount Curdie. A long way off, over the tops of other
hills, I could see a peak bearing 27° south of east; this I supposed was, as it ought to be, the Sugar-loaf Hill, south
westward from Mount Olga, and mentioned previously. To the north there was a long wall-like line stretching across the
horizon, ending about north-east; this appeared to be a disconnected range, apparently of the same kind as this, and
having gaps or passes to allow watercourses to run through; I called it Blood's Range. I could trace the Hull for many
miles, winding away a trifle west of north. It is evident that there must exist some gigantic basin into which the
Rebecca, the Docker, and the Hull, and very likely several more further east, must flow. I feel morally sure that the
Lake Amadeus of my former journey must be the receptacle into which these creeks descend, and if there are creeks
running into the lake from the south, may there not also be others running in, from the north and west? The line of the
southern hills, connected with the Petermann wall, runs across the bearing of the Sugar-loaf, so that I shall have to
pass over or through them to reach it. The outer walls still run on in disconnected groups, in nearly the same
direction as the southern hills, forming a kind of back wall all the way.

Starting away from our dry encampment, in seven miles we came to where the first hills of the southern mass
approached our line of march. They were mostly disconnected, having small grassy valleys lying between them, and they
were festooned with cypress pines, and some pretty shrubs, presenting also many huge bare rocks, and being very similar
country to that described at Ayers Range, through which I passed in August. Here, however, the rocks were not so
rounded and did not present so great a resemblance to turtles. At two miles we reached a small creek with gum timber,
and obtained water by digging. The fluid was rather brackish, but our horses were very glad of it, and we gave them a
couple of hours' rest. I called this Louisa's Creek. A hill nearly east of Mount Curdie I called Mount Fagan; another
still eastward of that I called Mount Miller. At five miles from Louisa's Creek we struck another and much larger one,
running to the north; and upon our right hand, close to the spot at which we struck it, was a rocky gorge, through and
over which the waters must tumble with a deafening roar in times of flood. Just now the water was not running, but a
quantity was lodged among the sand under the huge boulders that fill up the channel. I called this the Chirnside*. A
hill in the main range eastward of Mount Miller I called Mount Bowley. At ten miles from Louisa's Creek we camped at
another and larger watercourse than the Chirnside, which I called the Shaw*. All these watercourses ran up north, the
small joining the larger ones — some independently, but all going to the north. Crossing two more creeks, we were now
in the midst of a broken, pine-clad, hilly country, very well grassed and very pretty; the hills just named were on the
north, and low hills on the south. Ever since we entered the Livingstone Pass, we have traversed country which is
remarkably free from the odious triodia. Travelling along in the cool of the next morning through this “wild
Parthenius, tossing in waves of pine,” we came at six miles along our course towards the Sugar-loaf, to a place where
we surprised some natives hunting. Their wonderfully acute perceptions of sight, sound, and scent almost instantly
apprised them of our presence, and as is usual with these persons, the most frantic yells rent the air. Signal fires
were immediately lighted in all directions, in order to collect the scattered tribe, and before we had gone a mile we
were pursued by a multitude of howling demons. A great number came running after us, making the most unearthly noises,
screeching, rattling their spears and other weapons, with the evident intention of not letting us depart out of their
coasts. They drew around so closely and so thick, that they prevented our horses from going on, and we were compelled
to get out our revolvers for immediate use; we had no rifles with us. A number from behind threw a lot of spears; we
were obliged to let the pack-horse go — one spear struck him and made him rush and jump about. This drew their
attention from us for a moment; then, just as another flight of spears was let fly at us, we plunged forward on our
horses, and fired our revolvers. I was horrified to find that mine would not go off, something was wrong with the
cartridges, and, though I snapped it four times, not a single discharge took place. Fortunately Mr. Tietkens's went off
all right, and what with that, and the pack-horse rushing wildly about, trying to get up to us, we drove the wretches
off, for a time at least. They seemed far more alarmed at the horses than at us, of whom they did not seem to have any
fear whatever. We induced them to retire for a bit, and we went on, after catching the packhorse and breaking about
forty of their spears. I believe a wild Australian native would almost as soon be killed as have his spears destroyed.
The country was now much rougher, the little grassy valleys having ceased, and we had to take to the hills.

Attack at the Farthest East.

While travelling along here we saw, having previously heard its rustle, one of those very large iguanas which exist
in this part of the country. We had heard tales of their size and ferocity from the natives near the Peake (Telegraph
Station); I believe they call them Parenties. The specimen we saw to-day was nearly black, and from head to tail over
five feet long. I should very much have liked to catch him; he would make two or three good meals for both of us.
Occasionally we got a glimpse of the Sugar-loaf. At nine miles from where we had encountered the enemy, we came to a
bold, bare, rounded hill, and on ascending it, we saw immediately below us, that this hilly country ceased immediately
to the east, but that it ran on south-easterly. Two or three small creeks were visible below, then a thick scrubby
region set in, bounded exactly to the east by Mount Olga itself, which was sixty miles away. There was a large area of
bare rock all about this hill, and in a crevice we got a little water and turned our horses out. While we were eating
our dinner, Mr. Tietkens gave the alarm that the enemy was upon us again, and instantly we heard their discordant
cries. The horses began to gallop off in hobbles. These wretches now seemed determined to destroy us, for, having
considerably augmented their numbers, they swarmed around us on all sides. Two of our new assailants were of commanding
stature, each being nearly tall enough to make two of Tietkens if not of me. These giants were not, however, the most
forward in the onslaught. The horses galloped off a good way, with Tietkens running after them: in some trepidation
lest my revolver should again play me false, though of course I had cleaned and re-loaded it, I prepared to defend the
camp. The assailants immediately swarmed round me, those behind running up, howling, until the whole body were within
thirty yards of me; then they came on more slowly. I could now see that aggression on my part was the only thing for
it; I must try to carry the situation with a coup. I walked up to them very fast and pointed my revolver at them. Some,
thinking I was only pointing my finger, pointed their fingers at me. They all had their spears ready and quivering in
their wommerahs, and I am sure I should in another instant have been transfixed with a score or two of spears, had not
Mr. Tietkens, having tied up the horses, come running up, which caused a moment's diversion, and both our revolvers
going off properly this time, we made our foes retreat at a better pace than they had advanced. Some of their spears
were smashed in their hands; most of them dropped everything they carried, and went scudding away over the rocks as
fast as fear and astonishment would permit. We broke all the spears we could lay our hands on, nearly a hundred, and
then finished our dinner.

I would here remark that the natives of Australia have two kinds of spears — namely, the game- and the war-spear.
The game-spear is a thick, heavy implement, barbed with two or three teeth, entirely made of wood, and thrown by the
hand. These are used in stalking large game, such as emus, kangaroos, etc., when the hunter sneaks on the quarry, and,
at a distance of forty to fifty yards, transfixes it, though he may not just at the moment kill the animal, it
completely retards its progress, and the hunter can then run it to earth. The war-spears are different and lighter, the
hinder third of them being reed, the other two-thirds mulga wood; they are barbed, and thrown with a wommerah, to a
distance up to 150 yards, and are sometimes ten feet long.

After our meal we found a better supply of water in a creek about two miles southward, where there was both a rock
reservoir and sand water. We had now come about 130 miles from Sladen Water, and had found waters all the way; Mount
Olga was again in sight. The question was, is the water there permanent? Digging would be of no avail there, it is all
solid rock; either the water is procured on the surface or there is none. I made this trip to the east, not with any
present intention of retreat, but to discover whether there was a line of waters to retreat upon, and to become
acquainted with as much country as possible.

Mount Olga, from Sixty Miles to the West.

The sight of Mount Olga, and the thoughts of retreating to the east, acted like a spur to drive me farther to the
west; we therefore turned our backs upon Mount Olga and the distant east. I named this gorge, where we found a good
supply of water, Glen Robertson*, and the creek that comes from it, Casterton Creek. Mount Olga, as I said, bore nearly
due east; its appearance from here, which we always called the farthest east, was most wonderful and grotesque. It
seemed like five or six enormous pink hay-stacks, leaning for support against one another, with open cracks or fissures
between, which came only about half-way down its face. I am sure this is one of the most extraordinary geographical
features on the face of the earth, for, as I have said, it is composed of several enormous rounded stone shapes, like
the backs of several monstrous kneeling pink elephants. At sixty miles to the west its outline is astonishing. The
highest point of all, which is 1500 feet above the surrounding country, looked at from here, presents the appearance of
a gigantic pink damper, or Chinese gong viewed edgeways, and slightly out of the perpendicular. We did not return to
the scene of our fight and our dinner, but went about two miles northerly beyond it, when we had to take to the rough
hills again; we had to wind in and out amongst these, and in four miles struck our outgoing tracks. We found the
natives had followed us up step by step, and had tried to stamp the marks of the horses' hoofs out of the ground with
their own. They had walked four or five abreast, and consequently made a path more easy for us to remark. We saw them
raising puffs of smoke behind us, but did not anticipate any more annoyance from them. We pushed on till dark, to the
spot where we had met them in the morning; here we encamped without water.

Before daylight I went for the horses, while Mr. Tietkens got the swag and things ready to start away. I returned,
tied up the horses, and we had just begun to eat the little bit of damper we had for breakfast, when Mr. Tietkens,
whose nervous system seems particularly alive to any native approach, gave the alarm, that our pursuers were again upon
us, and we were again saluted with their hideous outcries. Breakfast was now a matter of minor import; instantly we
slung everything on to the horses, and by the time that was done we were again surrounded. I almost wished we had only
one of our rifles which we had left at home. We could do nothing with such an insensate, insatiable mob of wretches as
these; as a novelist would say, we flung ourselves into our saddles as fast as we could, and fairly gave our enemies
the slip, through the speed of our horses, they running after us like a pack of yelping curs, in maddening bray. The
natives ran well for a long distance, nearly three miles, but the pace told on them at last and we completely distanced
them. Had we been unsuccessful in finding water in this region and then met these demons, it is more than probable we
should never have escaped. I don't sigh to meet them again; the great wonder was that they did not sneak upon and spear
us in the night, but the fact of our having a waterless encampment probably deterred them. We kept at a good pace till
we reached the Chirnside, and gave our horses a drink, but went on twenty miles to Louisa's Creek before we rested. We
only remained here an hour. We saw no more of our enemies, but pushed on another twenty-two miles, till we reached the
Hull, where we could find no water.

On the subject of the natives, I may inform my reader that we often see places at native camps where the ground has
been raised for many yards, like a series of babies' graves; these are the sleeping-places of the young and unmarried
men, they scoop the soil out of a place and raise it up on each side: these are the bachelors' beds — twenty, thirty,
and forty are sometimes seen in a row; on top of each raised portion of soil two small fires are kept burning in lieu
of blankets. Some tribes have their noses pierced, others not. Some have front teeth knocked out, and others not. In
some tribes only women have teeth knocked out.

Our supply of food now consisted of just sufficient flour to make two small Johnny-cakes, and as we still had over
eighty miles to go, we simply had to do without any food all day, and shall have precisely the same quantity to-morrow
— that is to say, none. In eleven or twelve miles next morning we reached the caves near the Ruined Rampart, where we
rested and allowed the horses to feed. At night we camped again without food or water. The morning after, we reached
Gill's Pinnacle early, and famished enough to eat each other. We mixed up, cooked, and ate our small remnant of flour.
The last two days have been reasonably cool; anything under 100° is cool in this region. We found that during our
absence the natives had placed a quantity of gum-leaves and small boughs into the interstices of the small mounds of
stone, or as I call them, teocallis, which I mentioned previously; this had evidently been done so soon as we departed,
for they were now dead and dry. After bathing, remounting, we made good another twenty miles, and camped in triodia and
casuarina sandhills. We reached the camp at the pass by nine a.m. on the 19th, having been absent ten days. Gibson and
Jimmy were there certainly, and nothing had gone wrong, but these two poor fellows looked as pale as ghosts. Gibson
imagined we had gone to the west, and was much perturbed by our protracted absence.

The water in the open holes did not agree with either Gibson or Jimmy, and, when starting, I had shown them where to
dig for a spring of fresh water, and where I had nearly got a horse bogged one day when I rode there, to see what it
was like. They had not, however, made the slightest effort to look for or dig it out. I gave them the last of our
medical spirits, only half a bottle of rum, at starting. They had shot plenty of parrots and pigeons, and one or two
ducks; but, now that the ammunition is all but gone, a single shot is of the greatest consideration. We have only a few
pounds of flour, and a horse we must kill, in order to live ourselves. A few finishing touches to the smoke-house
required doing; this Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy went to do, while Gibson and I cut up a tarpaulin to make large water-bags,
and with a small lot of new canvas made four pairs of water-bags that would hold seven to eight gallons each. These,
when greased with horse fat or oil, ought to enable me to get out some distance from the western extremity of this
range. Poor old Terrible Billy came to water early, and I was much pleased with his appearance, but his little house
not being quite ready and the bags not completed, he has a day or so longer of grace. I had looked forward eagerly to
the time of the autumnal equinox, in hopes of rain. But all we got, however, was three dry thunderstorms and a few
drops of rain, which fell upon us en route to some more favoured land. The next day being Sunday, we had a day of
rest.

Near the place to which I had been dragged, there were several little heaps of stones, or rather, as a general rule,
small circles of piled-up stones removed from where they had formerly lain, with the exception of a solitary one left
in the centre. For what purpose the natives could have made or cleared these places I cannot tell; they were reserved
for some ceremonies, no doubt, like those at Gill's Pinnacle. The last few days have been very cool, the thermometer
indicating one day only 78° in the shade. On the 25th Gibson took the shovel to open out the springs formerly
mentioned; they lie in the midst of several little clumps of young eucalyptus suckers, the ground all round being a
morass, in which a man might almost sink, were it not for the thick growth of rushes. The water appears to flow over
several acres of ground, appearing and disappearing in places. The moment a small space was cleared of the rushes, it
became evident that the water was perpetually flowing, and we stood on rushes over our ankles in black soil. Gibson dug
a small tank, and the water soon cleared for itself a beautiful little crystal basin of the purest liquid, much more
delicious and wholesome than the half brackish water in the bed of the creek. These springs have their origin at the
foot of the hill on the eastern side of this pass, and percolate into the creek-bed, where the water becomes
impregnated with salt or soda. The water in the open holes in the creek-bed is always running; I thought the supply
came from up the creek — now, however, I find it comes from these fresh-water springs. I branded a tree in this pass E.
Giles with date.

On the 25th March the plump but old and doomed Terrible Billy confidingly came to water at eleven o'clock at night.
He took his last drink, and was led a captive to the camp, where he was tied up all night. The old creature looked
remarkably well, and when tied up close to the smoke-house — innocent, unsuspecting creature of what the craft and
subtilty of the devil or man might work against him — he had begun to eat a bunch or two of grass, when a rifle bullet
crashing through his forehead terminated his existence. There was some little fat about him; it took some time to cut
up the meat into strips, which were hung on sticks and placed in tiers in the pyramidal smoke-house.

We had a fine supper of horse-steaks, which we relished amazingly. Terrible Billy tasted much better than the cob we
had killed at Elder's Creek. What fat there was on the inside was very yellow, and so soft it would not harden at all.
With a very fat horse a salvage of fat might be got on portions of the meat, but nearly every particle of the fat drips
into oil. The smoke-house is now the object of our solicitude; a column of smoke ascends from the immolated Billy night
and day. Our continual smoke induced some natives to make their appearance, but they kept at a very respectful
distance, coming no nearer than the summit of the hills, on either side of the pass, from whence they had a good
bird's-eye view of our proceedings. They saluted us with a few cheers, i.e. groans, as they watched us from their
observatory.

The weather is now beautifully cool, fine, and clear. We had now finished smoking Terrible Billy who still
maintained his name, for he was terribly tough. I intended to make an attempt to push westward from the end of this
range, and all we required was the horses to carry us away; but getting them was not the easiest thing in the world,
for they were all running loose. Although they have to come to the pass to get water, there is water for more than a
mile, and some come sneaking quietly down without making the slightest noise, get a drink, and then, giving a snort of
derision to let us know, off they go at a gallop. They run in mobs of twos and threes; so now we have systematically to
watch for, catch, and hobble them. I set a watch during the night, and as they came, they were hobbled and put down
through the north side of the pass. They could not get back past the camp without the watchman both hearing and seeing
them; for it was now fine moonlight the greater part of the night. We had ten or twelve horses, but only two came
to-night for water, and these got away before we could catch them, as two of the party let them drink before catching
them. None came in the day, and only two the next night; these we caught, hobbled, and put with the others, which were
always trying to get back past the camp, so to-night I had a horse saddled to be sure of catching any that came, and
keeping those we had. During my watch, the second, several horses tried to pass the camp. I drove them back twice, and
had no more trouble with them; but in the morning, when we came to muster them, every hoof was gone. Of course nobody
had let them go! Every other member of the party informed me that they were ready to take their dying oaths that the
horses never got away in their watches, and that neither of them had any trouble whatever in driving them back, etc.;
so I could only conclude that I must have let them all go myself, because, as they were gone, and nobody else let them
go, why, of course, I suppose I must. After breakfast Mr. Tietkens went to try to recover them, but soon returned,
informing me he had met a number of natives at the smoke-house, who appeared very peaceably inclined, and who were on
their road down through the pass. This was rather unusual; previous to our conflict they had never come near us, and
since that, they had mostly given us a wide berth, and seemed to prefer being out of the reach of our rifles than
otherwise. They soon appeared, although they kept away on the east side of the creek. They then shouted, and when I
cooeyed and beckoned them to approach, they sat down in a row. I may here remark that the word cooey, as representing
the cry of all Australian aborigines, belonged originally to only one tribe or region, but it has been carried about by
whites from tribe to tribe, and is used by the civilised and semi-civilised races; but wild natives who have never seen
whites use no such cry. There were thirteen of these men. Mr. Tietkens and I went over to them, and we had quite a
friendly conference. Their leader was an individual of a very uncertain age — he might have been forty, or he might
have been eighty (in the shade). (This was written some time before the “Mikado” appeared. — E.G.) His head was nearly
bald on the crown, but some long grizzly locks depended below the bald patch.

The others were generally much younger, but some of them, though not clean past their youth, yet had about them some
smacks of the saltness of age. The old man was the most self-possessed; the others displayed a nervous tremor at our
approach; those nearest us sidled closer to their more remote and, as they no doubt thought, fortunate fellows; they
were all extremely ill-favoured in face, but their figures were not so outres, except that they appeared emaciated and
starved, otherwise they would have been men of good bulk. Their legs were straight, and their height would average five
feet nine inches, all being much taller than Mr. Tietkens or I. Two remained at a distance; these had a great charge to
superintend, it being no less than that of the trained wild dogs belonging to the tribe. There were three large dogs,
two of a light sandy, and one of a kind of German colley colour. These natives were armed with an enormous number of
light barbed spears, each having about a dozen. They do not appear to use the boomerang very generally in this part of
the continent, although we have occasionally picked up portions of old ones in our travels. Mr. Tietkens gave each of
these natives a small piece of sugar, with which they seemed perfectly charmed, and in consequence patted the seat of
their intellectual — that is to say, digestive — organs with great gusto, as the saccharine morsels liquefied in their
mouths. They seemed highly pleased with the appearance and antics of my little dog, who both sat and stood up at
command in the midst of them.

They kept their own dogs away, I presume, for fear we might want to seize them for food — wild dog standing in about
the same relation to a wild Australian native, as a sheep would to a white man. They eat all the grown dogs they can
catch, but keep a few pups to train for hunting, and wonderful hunting dogs they are. Hence their fear of our taking
their pets. The old gentleman was much delighted with my watch. I then showed them some matches, and the instantaneous
ignition of some grass in the midst of them was rather too startling a phenomenon for their weak minds; some of them
rose to depart. The old man, however, reassured them. I presented him with several matches, and showed him how to use
them; he was very much pleased, and having no pockets in his coat — for I might have previously remarked they were
arrayed in Nature's simple garb — he stuck them in his hair. Mr. Tietkens, during this time, was smoking, and the sight
of smoke issuing from his mouth seemed to disturb even the old man's assumed imperturbability, and he kept much closer
to me in consequence. I next showed them a revolver, and tried to explain the manner of using it. Most of them repeated
the word bang when I said it; but when I fired it off they were too agitated to take much notice of its effect on the
bark of a tree, which might otherwise have served to point a moral or adorn a tale in the oral traditions of their race
for ever. At the report of the revolver all rose and seemed in haste to go, but I would not allow my dear old friend to
depart without a few last friendly expressions. One of these natives was pitted with small-pox. They seemed to wish to
know where we were going, and when I pointed west, and by shaking my fingers intimated a long way, many of them pulled
their beards and pointed to us, and the old man gave my beard a slight pull and pointed west; this I took to signify
that they were aware that other white people like us lived in that direction. The conference ended, and they departed
over the hills on the east side of the pass, but it was two hours before they disappeared.

All the horses which had escaped in hobbles the other night now came to water, and were put through the pass again.
During the day we secured the remainder, and had them altogether at last. It was noon of the 7th April when we left
this delectable pass, again en route for the west, hoping to see Sladen Water and the Pass of the Abencerrages no more.
At fourteen miles we were delayed by Banks, carrying my boxes, as a strap broke, and he set to work to free himself of
everything. Fortunately, one box with the instruments, quicksilver, etc., remained firm; everything got bucked and
kicked out of the other; buckskin gloves, matches, mineral collection, rifle cartridges, bottles of medicine,
eye-water, socks, specimens of plants, etc., all sent flying about in the thick triodia, for the brute went full gallop
all round the mob of horses, trying to get rid of the other box and his saddle. In spite of all his efforts they
remained, and it was wonderful how many things we recovered, though some were lost. By this time it was dusk, and the
evening set in very cool. I now intended to encamp at the fine spring I named Fort McKellar, four miles east of the
Gorge of Tarns. There was a fine and heavy clump of eucalyptus timber there, and a very convenient and open sheet of
water for the use of the camp. I had always looked upon this as an excellent and desirable spot for an encampment,
though we had never used it yet. The grass, however, is neither good nor abundant; the country around being stony and
sterile, except down the immediate valley of the channel, which was not wide enough to graze a mob of horses for long.
We reached it again on the 9th of April.

My reader will remember that in January I had found a creek with a large, rocky tarn of water, which I called the
Circus; it was the last westerly water on the range, and I was anxious to know how it was holding out, as it must be
our point of departure for any farther efforts to the west. It was twenty miles from here, and Gibson and I rode up the
range to inspect it. On our road we revisited the Gorge of Tarns; the water there had shrunk very much. Here we had
left some useless articles, such as three pack-saddle frames, a broken thermometer, and sundry old gear; all these
things the natives had carried away. I had a good swim in the old tarn, and proceeded, reaching the Circus early in the
afternoon. There was the solitary eagle still perched upon its rock. The water had become greatly reduced; ten weeks
and two days had elapsed since I was here; and in another fortnight it would all be gone. If I intend doing anything
towards the west it must be done at once or it will be too late. The day was warm — 102°. A large flock of galars, a
slate-coloured kind of cockatoo, and a good talking bird, and hundreds of pigeons came to water at night; but having no
ammunition, we did not bring a gun. The water was so low in the hole that the horses could not reach it, and had to be
watered with a canvas bucket. I have said previously, that at the extremity of this range there lay an ancient lake
bed, but I had only been a mile or two upon it. Further on there were indications of salt, and as we were quite out of
that commodity, we rode over to try and procure some, but none existed, and we had to be satisfied with a quantity of
samphire bushes and salt-bush leaves, which we took home with us, returning to Fort McKellar the following day. I
called the salt feature Lake Christopher. We remained at the depot for a day or two, preparing for a start to the west,
and cut rails, and fixed up some palisading for the fort. I delayed entering that evidently frightful bed of sand which
lay to the west, in hopes of a change, for I must admit I dreaded to attempt the western country while the weather was
still so hot and oppressive. Though the thermometer may not appear to rise extraordinarily high in this region, yet the
weight and pressure of the atmosphere is sometimes almost overpowering. Existence here is in a permanent state of
languor, and I am sure the others in the party feel it more than I do, being consumed with the fire or frenzy of renown
for opening unknown lands, all others have to pale their ineffectual fires before it. No doubt, not being well fed is
some cause for our feelings of lassitude. The horses are also affected with extreme languor, as well as the men. The
thermometer to-day registered only 99°. The horses are always trying to roam away back to Sladen Water, and Mr.
Tietkens and I had a walk of many miles after them to-day. I was getting really anxious about the water at the Circus.
I scarcely dare to grapple with that western desert in such weather, yet, if I do not, I shall lose the Circus
water.

Although we were near the change of the moon, I despaired of a change of weather. I did not ask for rain, for it
would be useless on the desert sands; I only wanted the atmosphere to become a little less oppressive. I had not been
round the extreme western end of the range, though we had been to it, and I thought perhaps some creek might be found
to contain a good rock-hole, perhaps as far to the west, if not farther, than the Circus; on the opposite side of the
range, Mr. Tietkens and Gibson, who volunteered, went to see what they could discover, also to visit the Circus so as
to report upon it. Jimmy and I remained and erected some more woodwork — that is to say, rails and uprights — for the
fort. We walked over to re-inspect — Jimmy had not seen them — two glens and springs lying within a couple of miles to
the east of us, the first being about three-quarters of a mile off. I now named it Tyndall's Springs. Here a fine
stream of running water descends much further down the channel than at any other spring in the range, though it spreads
into no open sheets of water as at the depot; there was over a mile of running water. The channel is thickly set with
fine tall bulrushes. There is a very fine shady clump of gum-trees here, close to the base of the range. The next
spring, about a mile farther east, I called Groener's Springs; it had not such a strong flow of water, but the trees in
the clump at the head of it were much larger and more numerous than at the last. Some of the trees, as was the case at
Fort McKellar, were of very considerable size. Late at night Mr. Tietkens and Gibson returned, and reported that,
although they had discovered a new rock-hole with seven or eight feet of water in it, it was utterly useless; for no
horses could get within three-quarters of a mile of it, and they had been unable to water their horses, having had to
do so at the Circus. They said the water there was holding out well; but Gibson said it had diminished a good deal
since he and I were there a week ago. On the 19th April I told the party it was useless to delay longer, and that I had
made up my mind to try what impression a hundred miles would make on the country to the west. I had waited and waited
for a change, not to say rain, and it seemed as far off as though the month were November, instead of April. I might
still keep on waiting, until every ounce of our now very limited supply of rations was gone. We were now, and had been
since Billy was killed, living entirely on smoked horse; we only had a few pounds of flour left, which I kept in case
of sickness; the sugar was gone; only a few sticks of tobacco for Mr. Tietkens and Gibson — Jimmy and I not smoking —
remained. I had been disappointed at the Charlotte Waters at starting, by not being able to get my old horse, and had
started from the Alberga, lacking him and the 200 pounds of flour he would have carried — a deficiency which
considerably shortened my intended supply. A comparatively enormous quantity of flour had been lost by the continual
rippings of bags in the scrubs farther south, and also a general loss in weight of nearly ten per cent., from continual
handling of the bags, and evaporation. We had supplemented our supplies in a measure at Fort Mueller and the Pass, with
pigeons and wallabies, as long as our ammunition lasted, and now it was done. When I made known my intention, Gibson
immediately volunteered to accompany me, and complained of having previously been left so often and so long in the
camp. I much preferred Mr. Tietkens, as I felt sure the task we were about to undertake was no ordinary one, and I knew
Mr. Tietkens was to be depended upon to the last under any circumstances, but, to please Gibson, he waived his right,
and, though I said nothing, I was not at all pleased.

Chapter 2.10. From 20th April to 21st May, 1874.

Gibson and I depart for the west. His brother with Franklin. Desert oaks. Smoked horse. Ants
innumerable. Turn two horses back. Kegs in a tree. No views. Instinct of horses. Sight a distant range. Gibson's horse
dies. Give him the remaining one. The last ever seen of him. Alone in the desert. Carry a keg. Unconscious. Where is
the relief party. A dying wallaby. Footfalls of a galloping horse. Reach the depot. Exhausted. Search for the lost.
Gibson's Desert. Another smoke-house. Jimmy attacked at Fort McKellar. Another equine victim. Final retreat decided
upon. Marks of floods. Peculiarity of the climate. Remarks on the region. Three natives visit us.

The Circus.

APRIL 20TH, 1874.

Gibson and I having got all the gear we required, took a week's supply of smoked horse, and four excellent horses,
two to ride, and two to carry water, all in fine condition. I rode the Fair Maid of Perth, an excellent walker; I gave
Gibson the big ambling horse, Badger, and we packed the big cob, a splendid bay horse and fine weight-carrier, with a
pair of waterbags that contained twenty gallons at starting. The other horse was Darkie, a fine, strong, nuggetty-black
horse, who carried two five-gallon kegs of water and our stock of smoked horse, rugs, etc. We reached the Circus, at
twenty miles, early, and the horses had time to feed and fill themselves after being watered, though the grass was very
poor.

21ST APRIL.

While I went for the horses Gibson topped up the water-bags and kegs, and poured a quantity of water out of the hole
on to a shallow place, so that if we turned any horses back, they could drink without precipitating themselves into the
deep and slippery hole when they returned here. As we rode away, I remarked to Gibson that the day, was the anniversary
of Burke and Wills's return to their depot at Cooper's Creek, and then recited to him, as he did not appear to know
anything whatever about it, the hardships they endured, their desperate struggles for existence, and death there, and I
casually remarked that Wills had a brother who also lost his life in the field of discovery. He had gone out with Sir
John Franklin in 1845. Gibson then said, “Oh! I had a brother who died with Franklin at the North Pole, and my father
had a deal of trouble to get his pay from government.” He seemed in a very jocular vein this morning, which was not
often the case, for he was usually rather sulky, sometimes for days together, and he said, “How is it, that in all
these exploring expeditions a lot of people go and die?” I said, “I don't know, Gibson, how it is, but there are many
dangers in exploring, besides accidents and attacks from the natives, that may at any time cause the death of some of
the people engaged in it; but I believe want of judgment, or knowledge, or courage in individuals, often brought about
their deaths. Death, however, is a thing that must occur to every one sooner or later.” To this he replied, “Well, I
shouldn't like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.” In this sentiment I quite agreed with him, and the subject
dropped. At eleven miles we were not only clear of the range, but had crossed to the western side of Lake Christopher,
and were fairly enclosed in the sandhills, which were of course covered with triodia. Numerous fine casuarinas grew in
the hollows between them, and some stunted blood-wood-trees, (red gum,) ornamented the tops of some of the sandhills.
At twenty-two miles, on a west course, we turned the horses out for an hour. It was very warm, there was no grass. The
horses rested in the shade of a desert oak-tree, while we remained under another. These trees are very handsome, with
round umbrageous tops, the leaves are round and fringe-like. We had a meal of smoked horse; and here I discovered that
the bag with our supply of horseflesh in it held but a most inadequate supply for two of us for a week, there being
scarcely sufficient for one. Gibson had packed it at starting, and I had not previously seen it. The afternoon was
oppressively hot — at least it always seems so when one is away from water. We got over an additional eighteen miles,
making a day's stage of forty.

The country was all sandhills. The Rawlinson Range completely disappeared from view, even from the tops of the
highest sandhills, at thirty-five miles. The travelling, though heavy enough, had not been so frightful as I had
anticipated, for the lines of sandhills mostly ran east and west, and by turning about a bit we got several hollows
between them to travel in. Had we been going north or south, north-easterly or south-westerly, it would have been
dreadfully severe. The triodia here reigns supreme, growing in enormous bunches and plots, and standing three and four
feet high, while many of the long dry tops are as high as a man. This gives the country the appearance of dry grassy
downs; and as it is dotted here and there with casuarina and blood-wood-trees, and small patches of desert shrubs, its
general appearance is by no means displeasing to the eye, though frightful to the touch. No sign of the recent presence
of natives was anywhere visible, nor had the triodia been burnt for probably many years. At night we got what we in
this region may be excused for calling a grass flat, there being some bunches of a thin and wiry kind of grass, though
white and dry as a chip. I never saw the horses eat more than a mouthful or two of it anywhere, but there was nothing
else, and no water.

22ND.

The ants were so troublesome last night, I had to shift my bed several times. Gibson was not at all affected by
them, and slept well. We were in our saddles immediately after daylight. I was in hopes that a few miles might bring
about a change of country, and so it did, but not an advantageous one to us. At ten miles from camp the horizon became
flatter, the sandhills fell off, and the undulations became covered with brown gravel, at first very fine. At
fifty-five miles it became coarser, and at sixty miles it was evident the country was becoming firmer, if not actually
stony. Here we turned the horses out, having come twenty miles. I found one of our large waterbags leaked more than I
expected, and our supply of water was diminishing with distance. Here Gibson preferred to keep the big cob to ride,
against my advice, instead of Badger, so, after giving Badger and Darkie a few pints of water each, Gibson drove them
back on the tracks about a mile and let them go, to take their own time and find their own way back to the Circus. They
both looked terribly hollow and fatigued, and went away very slowly. Sixty miles through such a country as this tells
fearfully upon a horse. The poor brutes were very unwilling to leave us, as they knew we had some water, and they also
knew what a fearful region they had before them to reach the Circus again.

We gave the two remaining horses all the water contained in the two large water-bags, except a quart or two for
ourselves. This allowed them a pretty fair drink, though not a circumstance to what they would have swallowed. They fed
a little, while we remained here. The day was warm enough. The two five-gallon kegs with water we hung in the branches
of a tree, with the packsaddles, empty water-bags, etc. of the other two horses. Leaving the Kegs — I always called
this place by that name — we travelled another twenty miles by night, the country being still covered with small stones
and thickly clothed with the tall triodia. There were thin patches of mulga and mallee scrub occasionally. No view
could be obtained to the west; all round us, north, south, east, and west, were alike, the undulations forming the
horizons were not generally more than seven or eight miles distant from one another, and when we reached the rim or top
of one, we obtained exactly the same view for the next seven or eight miles. The country still retained all the
appearance of fine, open, dry, grassy downs, and the triodia tops waving in the heated breeze had all the semblance of
good grass. The afternoon had been very oppressive, and the horses were greatly disinclined to exert themselves, though
my mare went very well. It was late by the time we encamped, and the horses were much in want of water, especially the
big cob, who kept coming up to the camp all night, and tried to get at our water-bags, pannikins, etc. The instinct of
a horse when in the first stage of thirst in getting hold of any utensil that ever had water in it, is surprising and
most annoying, but teaching us by most persuasive reasons how akin they are to human things. We had one small water-bag
hung in a tree. I did not think of this just at the moment, when my mare came straight up to it and took it in her
teeth, forcing out the cork and sending the water up, which we were both dying to drink, in a beautiful jet, which,
descending to earth, was irrevocably lost. We now had only a pint or two left. Gibson was now very sorry he had
exchanged Badger for the cob, as he found the cob very dull and heavy to get on; this was not usual, for he was
generally a most willing animal, but he would only go at a jog while my mare was a fine walker. There had been a hot
wind from the north all day. The following morning (23rd) there was a most strange dampness in the air, and I had a
vague feeling, such as must have been felt by augurs, and seers of old, who trembled as they told, events to come; for
this was the last day on which I ever saw Gibson. It was a lamentable day in the history of this expedition. The
horizon to the west was hid in clouds. We left the camp even before daylight, and as we had camped on the top of a rim,
we knew we had seven or eight miles to go before another view could be obtained. The next rim was at least ten miles
from the camp, and there was some slight indications of a change.

First View of the Alfred and Marie Range.

We were now ninety miles from the Circus water, and 110 from Fort McKellar. The horizon to the west was still
obstructed by another rise three or four miles away; but to the west-north-west I could see a line of low stony ridges,
ten miles off. To the south was an isolated little hill, six or seven miles away. I determined to go to the ridges,
when Gibson complained that his horse could never reach them, and suggested that the next rise to the west might reveal
something better in front. The ridges were five miles away, and there were others still farther preventing a view. When
we reached them we had come ninety-eight miles from the Circus. Here Gibson, who was always behind, called out and said
his horse was going to die, or knock up, which are synonymous terms in this region. Now we had reached a point where at
last a different view was presented to us, and I believed a change of country was at hand, for the whole western, down
to the south-western, horizon was broken by lines of ranges, being most elevated at the south-western end. They were
all notched and irregular, and I believed formed the eastern extreme of a more elevated and probably mountainous region
to the west. The ground we now stood upon, and for a mile or two past, was almost a stony hill itself, and for the
first time in all the distance we had come, we had reached a spot where water might run during rain, though we had not
seen any place where it could lodge. Between us and the hilly horizon to the west the country seemed to fall into a
kind of long valley, and it looked dark, and seemed to have timber in it, and here also the natives had formerly burnt
the spinifex, but not recently. The hills to the west were twenty-five to thirty miles away, and it was with extreme
regret I was compelled to relinquish a farther attempt to reach them. Oh, how ardently I longed for a camel! how
ardently I gazed upon this scene! At this moment I would even my jewel eternal, have sold for power to span the gulf
that lay between! But it could not be, situated as I was; compelled to retreat — of course with the intention of coming
again with a larger supply of water — now the sooner I retreated the better. These far-off hills were named the Alfred
and Marie Range, in honour of their Royal Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh. Gibson's horse having got so
bad had placed us both in a great dilemma; indeed, ours was a most critical position. We turned back upon our tracks,
when the cob refused to carry his rider any farther, and tried to lie down. We drove him another mile on foot, and down
he fell to die. My mare, the Fair Maid of Perth, was only too willing to return; she had now to carry Gibson's saddle
and things, and we went away walking and riding by turns of half an hour. The cob, no doubt, died where he fell; not a
second thought could be bestowed on him.

When we got back to about thirty miles from the Kegs I was walking, and having concluded in my mind what course to
pursue, I called to Gibson to halt till I walked up to him. We were both excessively thirsty, for walking had made us
so, and we had scarcely a pint of water left between us. However, of what we had we each took a mouthful, which
finished the supply, and I then said — for I couldn't speak before —“Look here, Gibson, you see we are in a most
terrible fix with only one horse, therefore only one can ride, and one must remain behind. I shall remain: and now
listen to me. If the mare does not get water soon she will die; therefore ride right on; get to the Kegs, if possible,
to-night, and give her water. Now the cob is dead there'll be all the more for her; let her rest for an hour or two,
and then get over a few more miles by morning, so that early to-morrow you will sight the Rawlinson, at twenty-five
miles from the Kegs. Stick to the tracks, and never leave them. Leave as much water in one keg for me as you can afford
after watering the mare and filling up your own bags, and, remember, I depend upon you to bring me relief. Rouse Mr.
Tietkens, get fresh horses and more water-bags, and return as soon as you possibly can. I shall of course endeavour to
get down the tracks also.”

The Last Ever Seen of Gibson

He then said if he had a compass he thought he could go better at night. I knew he didn't understand anything about
compasses, as I had often tried to explain them to him. The one I had was a Gregory's Patent, of a totally different
construction from ordinary instruments of the kind, and I was very loth to part with it, as it was the only one I had.
However, he was so anxious for it that I gave it him, and he departed. I sent one final shout after him to stick to the
tracks, to which he replied, “All right,” and the mare carried him out of sight almost immediately. That was the last
ever seen of Gibson.

I walked slowly on, and the further I walked the more thirsty I became. I had thirty miles to go to reach the Kegs,
which I could not reach until late to-morrow at the rate I was travelling, and I did not feel sure that I could keep on
at that. The afternoon was very hot. I continued following the tracks until the moon went down, and then had to stop.
The night was reasonably cool, but I was parched and choking for water. How I longed again for morning! I hoped Gibson
had reached the Kegs, and that he and the mare were all right. I could not sleep for thirst, although towards morning
it became almost cold. How I wished this planet would for once accelerate its movements and turn upon its axis in
twelve instead of twenty-four hours, or rather that it would complete its revolution in six hours.

APRIL 24TH TO 1ST MAY.

Alone in the Desert.

So soon as it was light I was again upon the horse tracks, and reached the Kegs about the middle of the day. Gibson
had been here, and watered the mare, and gone on. He had left me a little over two gallons of water in one keg, and it
may be imagined how glad I was to get a drink. I could have drunk my whole supply in half an hour, but was compelled to
economy, for I could not tell how many days would elapse before assistance could come: it could not be less than five,
it might be many more. After quenching my thirst a little I felt ravenously hungry, and on searching among the bags,
all the food I could find was eleven sticks of dirty, sandy, smoked horse, averaging about an ounce and a half each, at
the bottom of a pack-bag. I was rather staggered to find that I had little more than a pound weight of meat to last me
until assistance came. However, I was compelled to eat some at once, and devoured two sticks raw, as I had no water to
spare to boil them in.

After this I sat in what shade the trees afforded, and reflected on the precariousness of my position. I was sixty
miles from water, and eighty from food, my messenger could hardly return before six days, and I began to think it
highly probable that I should be dead of hunger and thirst long before anybody could possibly arrive. I looked at the
keg; it was an awkward thing to carry empty. There was nothing else to carry water in, as Gibson had taken all the
smaller water-bags, and the large ones would require several gallons of water to soak the canvas before they began to
tighten enough to hold water. The keg when empty, with its rings and straps, weighed fifteen pounds, and now it had
twenty pounds of water in it. I could not carry it without a blanket for a pad for my shoulder, so that with my
revolver and cartridge-pouch, knife, and one or two other small things on my belt, I staggered under a weight of about
fifty pounds when I put the keg on my back. I only had fourteen matches.

After I had thoroughly digested all points of my situation, I concluded that if I did not help myself Providence
wouldn't help me. I started, bent double by the keg, and could only travel so slowly that I thought it scarcely worth
while to travel at all. I became so thirsty at each step I took, that I longed to drink up every drop of water I had in
the keg, but it was the elixir of death I was burdened with, and to drink it was to die, so I restrained myself. By
next morning I had only got about three miles away from the Kegs, and to do that I travelled mostly in the moonlight.
The next few days I can only pass over as they seemed to pass with me, for I was quite unconscious half the time, and I
only got over about five miles a day.

To people who cannot comprehend such a region it may seem absurd that a man could not travel faster than that. All I
can say is, there may be men who could do so, but most men in the position I was in would simply have died of hunger
and thirst, for by the third or fourth day — I couldn't tell which — my horse meat was all gone. I had to remain in
what scanty shade I could find during the day, and I could only travel by night.

When I lay down in the shade in the morning I lost all consciousness, and when I recovered my senses I could not
tell whether one day or two or three had passed. At one place I am sure I must have remained over forty-eight hours. At
a certain place on the road — that is to say, on the horse tracks — at about fifteen miles from the Kegs — at
twenty-five miles the Rawlinson could again be sighted — I saw that the tracks of the two loose horses we had turned
back from there had left the main line of tracks, which ran east and west, and had turned about east-south-east, and
the tracks of the Fair Maid of Perth, I was grieved to see, had gone on them also. I felt sure Gibson would soon find
his error, and return to the main line. I was unable to investigate this any farther in my present position. I followed
them about a mile, and then returned to the proper line, anxiously looking at every step to see if Gibson's horse
tracks returned into them.

They never did, nor did the loose horse tracks either. Generally speaking, whenever I saw a shady desert oak-tree
there was an enormous bulldog ants' nest under it, and I was prevented from sitting in its shade. On what I thought was
the 27th I almost gave up the thought of walking any farther, for the exertion in this dreadful region, where the
triodia was almost as high as myself, and as thick as it could grow, was quite overpowering, and being starved, I felt
quite light-headed. After sitting down, on every occasion when I tried to get up again, my head would swim round, and I
would fall down oblivious for some time. Being in a chronic state of burning thirst, my general plight was dreadful in
the extreme. A bare and level sandy waste would have been Paradise to walk over compared to this. My arms, legs,
thighs, both before and behind, were so punctured with spines, it was agony only to exist; the slightest movement and
in went more spines, where they broke off in the clothes and flesh, causing the whole of the body that was punctured to
gather into minute pustules, which were continually growing and bursting. My clothes, especially inside my trousers,
were a perfect mass of prickly points.

My great hope and consolation now was that I might soon meet the relief party. But where was the relief party? Echo
could only answer — where? About the 29th I had emptied the keg, and was still over twenty miles from the Circus. Ah!
who can imagine what twenty miles means in such a case? But in this April's ivory moonlight I plodded on, desolate
indeed, but all undaunted, on this lone, unhallowed shore. At last I reached the Circus, just at the dawn of day. Oh,
how I drank! how I reeled! how hungry I was! how thankful I was that I had so far at least escaped from the jaws of
that howling wilderness, for I was once more upon the range, though still twenty miles from home.

There was no sign of the tracks, of any one having been here since I left it. The water was all but gone. The
solitary eagle still was there. I wondered what could have become of Gibson; he certainly had never come here, and how
could he reach the fort without doing so?

I was in such a miserable state of mind and body, that I refrained from more vexatious speculations as to what had
delayed him: I stayed here, drinking and drinking, until about ten a.m., when I crawled away over the stones down from
the water. I was very footsore, and could only go at a snail's pace. Just as I got clear of the bank of the creek, I
heard a faint squeak, and looking about I saw, and immediately caught, a small dying wallaby, whose marsupial mother
had evidently thrown it from her pouch. It only weighed about two ounces, and was scarcely furnished yet with fur. The
instant I saw it, like an eagle I pounced upon it and ate it, living, raw, dying — fur, skin, bones, skull, and all.
The delicious taste of that creature I shall never forget. I only wished I had its mother and father to serve in the
same way. I had become so weak that by late at night, I had only accomplished eleven miles, and I lay down about five
miles from the Gorge of Tarns, again choking for water. While lying down here, I thought I heard the sound of the
foot-falls of a galloping horse going campwards, and vague ideas of Gibson on the Fair Maid — or she without him —
entered my head. I stood up, and listened, but the sound had died away upon the midnight air. On the 1st of May, as I
afterwards found, at one o'clock in the morning, I was walking again, and reached the Gorge of Tarns long before
daylight, and could again indulge in as much water as I desired; but it was exhaustion I suffered from, and I could
hardly move.

My reader may imagine with what intense feelings of relief I stepped over the little bridge across the water,
staggered into the camp at daylight, and woke Mr. Tietkens, who stared at me as though I had been one, new risen from
the dead. I asked him had he seen Gibson, and to give me some food. I was of course prepared to hear that Gibson had
never reached the camp; indeed I could see but two people in their blankets the moment I entered the fort, and by that
I knew he could not be there. None of the horses had come back, and it appeared that I was the only one of six living
creatures — two men and four horses — that had returned, or were now ever likely to return, from that desert, for it
was now, as I found, nine days since I last saw Gibson.

Mr. Tietkens told me he had been in a great state of anxiety during my absence, and had only returned an hour or two
before from the Circus. This accounted for the sounds I heard. He said he had planted some smoked horsesticks, and
marked a tree. This was a few hours after I had left it in the morning. He said he saw my foot-marks, but could not
conclude that I could be on foot alone, and he thought the tracks must be older than they looked. Any how, we had
missed meeting one another somewhere on the range. We were both equally horrified at Gibson's mischance. When we woke
Jimmy up he was delighted to see me, but when told about Gibson, he said something about he knowed he worn't no good in
the bush, but as long as I had returned, etc., etc. I told them both just what had occurred out there; how Gibson and I
had parted company, and we could only conclude that he must be dead, or he would long before have returned. The mare
certainly would have carried him to the Circus, and then he must have reached the depot; but it was evident that he had
gone wrong, had lost himself, and must now be dead. I was too much exhausted and too prostrate to move from the camp to
search for him to-day, but determined to start to-morrow. Mr. Tietkens got everything ready, while I remained in a
state of semi-stupor. I was cramped with pains in all my joints, pains in the stomach, and violent headaches, the
natural result of having a long-empty stomach suddenly filled. Gibson's loss and my struggles formed the topic of
conversation for most of the day, and it naturally shed a gloom over our spirits. Here we were, isolated from
civilisation, out of humanity's reach, hundreds of miles away from our fellow creatures, and one of our small party had
gone from us. It was impossible for him to be still in existence in that fearful desert, as no man would or could stay
there alive: he must be dead, or he would have returned as I did, only much sooner, for the mare he had, would carry
him as far in a day as I could walk in a week in this country.

The days had not lately been excessively hot, Mr. Tietkens said 96 to 98° had been the average, but to-day it was
only 90°. This afternoon it was very cloudy, and threatened to rain. I was now, however, in hopes that none would fall.
That evil spirit of this scene — Mount Destruction — frowned upon us, and now that Gibson was dead, exploration was
ended; we had but to try to find his remains, and any little trifling shower that fell would make it all the more
difficult to trace him, while a thorough downpour would obliterate the tracks of our lost companion, entirely from the
surface of the sandy waste into which he had so unfortunately strayed. Before daylight on the 2nd we were awoke by the
sprinkling of a light shower of rain, which was of not the slightest use; but it continued so long, making everything
wet and clammy, that I felt sure we should have some trouble in following Gibson's tracks. The rain ceased about seven
o'clock. Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy got all the things we required, and the horses. I was so weak I could do nothing. We
took three pack-horses to carry water, and two riding-horses, Blackie and Diaway, to ride, with Widge, Fromby, and
Hippy. Though Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy had not been attacked during my absence, the natives were always prowling about,
and I did not like the idea of leaving Jimmy alone; but as he said he was willing to remain, we left him. I had to be
literally put on to my horse Blackie, and we rode away. Not to worry my reader more than I can help, I may say we had
to return to the Kegs, to get the bags left there, and some indispensable things; also Gibson's saddle, which he left
nine or ten miles beyond the Kegs in a tree. Going all that distance to get these things, and returning to where
Gibson's tracks branched off, we had to travel 115 miles, which made it the third night the horses had been out. We
gave them some of the water we carried each night, and our supply was now nearly all gone. It was on the 6th May when
we got back to where Gibson had left the right line. We fortunately had fine, cool weather. As long as Gibson remained
upon the other horse-tracks, following them, though not very easy, was practicable enough; but the unfortunate man had
left them, and gone away in a far more southerly direction, having the most difficult sandhills now to cross at right
angles. He had burnt a patch of spinifex, where he left the other horse-tracks, and must have been under the delusion
that they were running north, and that the main line of tracks must be on his right, instead of his left hand, and
whether he made any mistake or not in steering by the compass, it is impossible to say, but instead of going east as he
should, he actually went south, or very near it. In consequence of small reptiles, such as lizards, always scratching
over all horse tracks in this region during the night, and also the slight rain we had the other morning, combined with
wind, the shifting nature of the sandy soil, and the thick and bushy spinifex, we could make but poor headway in
following the single track, and it was only by one of us walking while the other brought on the horses, that we could
keep the track at all. Although we did not halt during the whole day, we had not been able to track him by night more
than thirteen miles. Up to this point there was evidently no diminution of the powers of the animal he bestrode. We
camped upon the tracks the fourth night without water, it being impossible to follow in the moonlight. We gave our
horses all our remaining stock of water.

We began to see that our chance of finding the remains of our lost companion was very slight. I was sorry to think
that the unfortunate man's last sensible moments must have been embittered by the thought that, as he had lost himself
in the capacity of a messenger for my relief, I too must necessarily fall a victim to his mishap.

I called this terrible region that lies between the Rawlinson Range and the next permanent water that may eventually
be found to the west, Gibson's Desert, after this first white victim to its horrors.

Gibson, having had my horse, rode away in my saddle with my field glasses attached; but everything was gone — man
and horse alike swallowed in this remorseless desert. The weather was cool at night, even cold, for which I was most
thankful, or we could not have remained so long away from water. We consulted together, and could only agree that
unless we came across Gibson's remains by mid-day, we must of necessity retreat, otherwise it would be at the loss of
fresh lives, human and equine, for as he was mounted on so excellent an animal as the Fair Maid, on account of whose
excellence I had chosen her to ride, it seemed quite evident that this noble creature had carried him only too well,
and had been literally ridden to death, having carried her rider too far from water ever to return, even if he had
known where it lay. What actual distance she had carried him, of course it was impossible to say; going so persistently
in the wrong direction, he was simply hastening on to perish. I felt more at ease walking along the track than riding.
We could only go slowly, mile after mile, rising sand-ridge after sand-ridge, until twelve o'clock, not having been
able to trace him more than seven or eight miles since morning. We could not reach the Circus by night, for we were
nearly fifty miles from it, and in all probability we should get no water there when we returned. We had to abandon any
further attempt. The mare had carried him God knows where, and we had to desist from our melancholy and unsuccessful
search. Ah! who can tell his place of rest, far in the mulga's shade? or where his drooping courser, bending low, all
feebly foaming fell? I may here remark, that when we relinquished the search, Gibson's tracks were going in the
direction of, though not straight to, the dry ridges that Jimmy and I visited in February. These were now in sight, and
no doubt Gibson imagined they were the Rawlinson Range, and he probably ended his life amongst them. It was impossible
for us to go there now; I had difficulty enough to get away from them when I purposely visited them. We now made a
straight line for the western end of the Rawlinson, and continued travelling until nearly morning, and did not stop
till the edge of Lake Christopher was reached. This was the fifth night from water, and the horses were only just able
to crawl, and we camped about ten miles from the Circus, we hoped to get water for them there. During our night march,
before reaching the lake — that is, owing to the horses we were driving running along them, away from our line — we
crossed and saw the tracks of the two loose horses, Badger and Darkie; they were making too southerly ever to reach the
Rawlinson. Where these two unfortunate brutes wandered to and died can never be known, for it would cost the lives of
men simply to ascertain.

On reaching the Circus next morning, the 8th, there was only mud and slime, and we had to go so slowly on, until we
reached the Gorge of Tarns very late, reaching the depot still later. I was almost more exhausted now than when I
walked into it last. Jimmy was all right with the little dog, and heartily glad at our return, as he thought it was the
end of our troubles. Jimmy was but young, and to be left alone in such a lonely spot, with the constant dread of
hostile attacks from the natives, would not be pleasant for any one. Our stock of poor old Terrible Billy was all but
gone, and it was necessary to kill another horse. Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy had partially erected another smoke-house, and
to-morrow we must work at it again. The affairs of the dead must give place to those of the living. I could not endure
the thought of leaving Gibson's last resting-place unknown, although Bunyan says, “Wail not for the dead, for they have
now become the companions of the immortals.” As I have said, my mind could not rest easy without making another attempt
to discover Gibson; but now that the Circus water was gone, it would be useless to go from here without some other
water between, for where we left his tracks was seventy miles away, and by the time we could get back to them it would
be time to return. In the early part of the day we got sticks and logs, and erected a portion of the smoke-house, while
Jimmy got the horses. I then determined to go with Mr. Tietkens to where he and Gibson had found a rock-hole, which
they said was unapproachable. I was determined to see whether it could be used, so we delayed killing another horse
until our return, and in consequence we had to draw upon our small stock of flour. In the afternoon we took five more
horses, intending to load them with water at the hole if possible; but I found it utterly useless. I called the most
western hill of this range Mount Forrest, and the most western watercourse Forrest's Creek.

Jimmy at Fort Mckellar.

When we arrived again at the fort, on Monday, I knew something had happened, for Jimmy was most profuse in his
delight at seeing us again. It appeared that while we were preparing to start on Saturday, a whole army of natives were
hidden behind the rocks, immediately above the camp, waiting and watching until we departed, and no sooner were we well
out of sight and sound, than they began an attack upon poor Jim. According to him, it was only by the continued use of
rifle bullets, of which, fortunately, I had a good supply — and, goodness knows, the ground in and around the fort was
strewn with enough discharged cartridges — that he could keep them at bay at all. If he had killed ten per cent, for
all the cartridges he fired away, I should think he would have destroyed the whole tribe; but he appeared to have been
too flurried to have hit many of them. They threw several spears and great quantities of stones down from the rocks; it
was fortunate he had a palisade to get inside of. Towards night he seems to have driven them off, and he and the little
dog watched all night. It must indeed have been something terrible that would keep Jimmy awake all night. Before
daylight on Sunday the natives came to attack him again; he had probably improved in his aim by his previous day's
practice, for at length he was able to drive them away screeching and yelling, the wounded being carried in the arms of
the others. One fellow, Jimmy said, came rushing up to give him his quietus, and began dancing about the camp and
pulling over all the things, when Jimmy suddenly caught up a shot gun loaded with heavy long-shot cartridges, of which
I had about a dozen left for defence, and before the fellow could get away, he received the full charge in his body.
Jimmy said he bounded up in the air, held up his arms, shrieked, and screamed, but finally ran off with all the others,
and they had not troubled him since. I gave the lad great praise for his action. He had had a most fortunate escape
from most probably a cruel death, if indeed these animals would not have actually eaten him.

We finished the smoke-house this afternoon, and, having secured the new victim we were going to slay, tied him up
all night. This time it was Tommy. I had brought him originally from Victoria, and he had been out on my first
expedition. He was now very old and very poor, two coincidences that can only be thoroughly comprehended by the
antiquated of the human race; and for my part I would rather be killed and eaten by savages, than experience such
calamities at an advanced period of life. Tommy did not promise much oil. I shot him early, and we got him into the
smoke-house with the exception of such portions as we kept fresh, by the afternoon. We had to boil every bone in his
body to get sufficient oil to fry steaks with, and the only way to get one's teeth through the latter was to pound them
well before cooking. I wish I had a sausage machine. The thermometer to-day only 78°. Had Gibson not been lost I should
certainly have pushed out west again and again. To say I was sorry to abandon such a work in such a region, though
true, may seem absurd, but it must be remembered I was pitted, or had pitted myself, against Nature, and a second time
I was conquered. The expedition had failed in its attempt to reach the west, but still it had done something. It would
at all events leave a record. Our stores and clothes were gone, we had nothing but horseflesh to eat, and it is
scarcely to be wondered at if neither Mr. Tietkens nor Jimmy could receive my intimation of my intention to retreat
otherwise than with pleasure, though both were anxious, as I was, that our efforts should be successful. In our present
circumstances, however, nothing more could be done. In vain the strong will and the endeavour, which for ever wrestled
with the tides of fate.

We set to work to shoe some of the horses. When Tommy is smoked we shall depart. He proved to have more flesh on his
bones than I anticipated, and he may last us for a month. The next few days got hot and sultry, and rain again
threatened. If we could only get a good fall, out to the west we would go again without a further thought; for if heavy
rain fell we would surely find some receptacle at the Alfred and Marie Range to help us on? But no, the rain would not
come. Every drop in this singular region seems meted and counted out, yet there are the marks of heavy floods on all
the watercourses. The question of when did the floods occur, which caused these marks, and when, oh when, will such
phenomena occur again, is always recurring to me. The climate of this region too seems most extraordinary; for both
last night and the night before we could all lie on our blankets without requiring a rag to cover us, while a month ago
it was so cold at night that we actually wanted fires. I never knew the nights so warm in May in any other parts I have
visited, and I cannot determine whether this is a peculiarity of the region, or whether the present is an unusual
season throughout this half of the continent. With the exception of a few showers which fell in January, not a drop of
rain to leave water has fallen since I left the telegraph line.

I cannot leave this singular spot without a few remarks on its peculiarities and appearance, for its waters are
undoubtedly permanent, and may be useful to future travellers. In the first place Fort McKellar bears 12° east of south
from the highest ridge of Mount Destruction, in the Carnarvon Range; that mountain, however, is partially hidden by the
intervening low hills where Mr. Tietkens's riding-horse Bluey died. In consequence I called it Bluey's Range. This
depot is amongst a heavy clump of fine eucalypts, which are only thick for about a quarter of a mile. From beneath this
clump a fine strong spring of the purest water flows, and just opposite our fort is a little basin with a stony bottom,
which we had to bridge over to reach the western bank. The grazing capabilities of the country are very poor, and the
horses only existed here since leaving the pass. On the 20th it was a month since Gibson and I departed for the west.
This morning three natives came up near the camp, but as they or their tribe had so lately attacked it, I had no very
loving feelings for them, although we had a peaceable interview. The only information I could glean from them was that
their word for travelling, or going, or coming, was “Peterman”. They pointed to Mount Destruction, and intimated that
they were aware that we had “Petermaned” there, that we had “Petermaned” both from the east and to the west. Everything
with them was “Peterman”. It is singular how identical the word is in sound with the name of the late Dr. Petermann,
the geographer. In looking over Gibson's few effects, Mr. Tietkens and I found, in an old pocketbook, a drinking song
and a certificate of his marriage: he had never told us anything about this.

Chapter 2.11. From 21st May to 20th July, 1874.

Depart for civilisation. The springs at the pass. Farewell to Sladen Water. The Schwerin Mural
Crescent. The return route. Recross the boundary line. Natives and their smokes. A canine telegram. New features. The
Sugar-loaf. Mount Olga once more. Ayers' Rock. Cold weather. A flat-topped hill. Abandon a horse. A desert region. A
strange feature. Lake Amadeus again. A new smoke-house. Another smoked horse. The glue-pot. An invention. Friendly
natives. A fair and fertile tract. The Finke. A white man. A sumptuous repast. Sale of horses and gear. The Charlotte.
The Peake. In the mail. Hear of Dick's death. In Adelaide. Concluding remarks.

On the afternoon of Thursday, 21st May, we began our retreat, and finally left Fort McKellar, where my hopes had
been as high as my defeat was signal. On arriving at the pass we camped close to the beautiful fresh-water springs,
where both Mr. Tietkens and Gibson, had planted a patch of splendid soil, Gibson having done the same at Fort McKellar
with all kinds of seeds; but the only thing that came up well here was maize. That looked splendid, and had grown
nearly three feet high. The weather was now delightful, and although in full retreat, had there been no gloom upon our
feelings, had we had any good food to eat, with such fine horses as Banks, and Diaway, W.A., Trew, Blackie, etc. to
ride, and a line of well-watered country before us for hundreds of miles, we might have considered our return a
pleasure trip; but gloom covered our retreat, and we travelled along almost in silence. The pass was a place I greatly
liked, and it was free from ants. There was a long line of fine eucalyptus timber and an extensive piece of ground
covered with rushes, which made it look very pretty; altogether it was a most desirable spot for an explorer's camp,
and an excellent place for the horses, as they soon got fat here. It is impossible that I should ever forget Sladen
Water or the Pass of the Abencerrages: “Methinks I am as well in this valley as I have been anywhere else in all our
journey; the place methinks suits with my spirit. I love to be in such places, where there is no rattling with coaches,
nor rumbling with wheels. Methinks here one may, without much molestation, be thinking what he is, and whence he came;
what he has done, and to what the king has called him” (Bunyan). On the Queen's birthday we bade it a last farewell,
and departed for the east and civilisation, once more. We now had the route that Mr. Tietkens and I had explored in
March — that is to say, passing and getting water at all the following places:— Gill's Pinnacle, the Ruined Rampart,
Louisa's Creek, and the Chirnside. The country, as I have said before, was excellent and good for travelling over. The
crescent-shaped and wall-like range running from the Weld Pass to Gill's Pinnacle, and beyond it, I named the Schwerin
Mural Crescent; and a pass through it I named Vladimar Pass, in honour of Prince Vladimar, son of the Emperor of
Russia, married to the Princess of Schwerin. When we reached the place where we first surprised the natives hunting, in
March, we made a more northerly detour, as our former line had been through and over very rough hills, and in so doing
we found on the 1st of June another splendid watering-place, where several creeks joined and ran down through a rocky
defile, or glen, to the north. There was plenty of both rock and sand water here, and it was a very pretty and
excellent little place. I called it Winter's* Glen, and the main creek of the three in which it lies, Irving Creek.
This water may easily be found by a future traveller, from its bearing from a high, long-pointed hill abruptly ending
to the west, which I named Mount Phillips. This is a very conspicuous mount in this region, being, like many of the
others named on this line, detached to allow watercourses to pass northwards, and yet forming a part of the long
northern wall, of which the Petermann Range is formed. This mount can be distinctly seen from Mount Olga, although it
is seventy miles away, and from whence it bears 4° north of west. The water gorge at Winter's Glen bears west from the
highest point of Mount Phillips, and four miles away. We were now again in the territories of South Australia, having
bid farewell to her sister state, and turned our backs upon that peculiar province of the sun, the last of austral
lands he shines upon. We next paid a visit to Glen Robertson, of 15th March, as it was a convenient place from which to
make a straight line to the Sugar-loaf. To reach it we had to make a circuitous line, under the foot of the farthest
east hill, where, it will be remembered, we had been attacked during dinner-time. We reached the glen early. There was
yet another detached hill in the northern line, which is the most eastern of the Petermann Range. I named it Mount
McCulloch. It can also easily be distinguished from Mount Olga. From Glen Robertson Mount McCulloch bore 3° east of
north. We rested here a day, during which several natives made their appearance and lit signal fires for others. There
is a great difference between signal and hunting fires; we were perfectly acquainted with both, as my reader may
imagine. One aboriginal fiend, of the Homo sapiens genus, while we were sitting down sewing bags as usual, sneaked so
close upon us, down the rocks behind the camp, that he could easily have touched or tomahawked — if he had one — either
of us, before he was discovered. My little dog was sometimes too lazy to obey, when a little distance off, the command
to sit, or stand up; in that case I used to send him a telegram, as I called it — that is to say, throw a little stone
at him, and up he would sit immediately. This sneak of a native was having a fine game with us. Cocky was lying down
near Mr. Tietkens, when a stone came quietly and roused him, causing him to sit up. Mr. Tietkens patted him, and he lay
down again. Immediately after another stone came, and up sat Cocky. This aroused Mr. Tietkens's curiosity, as he didn't
hear me speak to the dog, and he said, “Did you send Cocky a telegram?” I said, “No.” “Well then,” said he, “somebody
did twice: did you, Jimmy?” “No.” “Oh!” I exclaimed, “it's those blacks!” We jumped up and looked at the low rocks
behind us, where we saw about half-a-dozen sidling slowly away behind them. Jimmy ran on top, but they had all
mysteriously disappeared. We kept a sharp look out after this, and fired a rifle off two or three times, when we heard
some groans and yells in front of us up the creek gorge.

Having got some rock water at the Sugar-loaf or Stevenson's Peak in coming out, we went there again. On the road, at
nine miles, we crossed another large wide creek running north. I called it the Armstrong*; there was no water where we
crossed it. At twenty miles I found another fine little glen, with a large rock-hole, and water in the sand of the
creek-bed. I called this Wyselaski's* Glen, and the creek the Hopkins. It was a very fine and pretty spot, and the
grass excellent. On reaching the Peak or Sugar-loaf, without troubling the old rocky shelf, so difficult for horses to
approach, and where there was very little water, we found another spot, a kind of native well, half a mile west of the
gorge, and over a rise. We pushed on now for Mount Olga, and camped in casuarina and triodia sandhills without water.
The night of the 5th June was very cold and windy; my only remaining thermometer is not graduated below 36°. The
mercury was down in the bulb this morning. Two horses straying delayed us, and it was quite late at night when Mount
Olga was reached. I was very much pleased to see the little purling brook gurgling along its rocky bed, and all the
little basins full. The water, as when I last saw it, ended where the solid rock fell off. The country all around was
excessively dry, and the grass withered, except in the channel of the creek, where there was some a trifle green. From
here I had a desire to penetrate straight east to the Finke, as a considerable distance upon that line was yet quite
unknown. One of our horses, Formby, was unwell, and very troublesome to drive. We are nearly at the end of our stock of
Tommy, and Formby is a candidate for the smoke-house that will evidently be elected, though we have yet enough Tommy
for another week. While here, I rode round northward to inspect that side of this singular and utterly unclimbable
mountain. Our camp was at the south face, under a mound which lay up against the highest mound of the whole. On the
west side I found another running spring, with some much larger rock-basins than at our camp. Of course the water
ceased running where the rock ended. Round on the north side I found a still stronger spring, in a larger channel. I
rode completely round the mass of this wonderful feature; its extraordinary appearance will never be out of my
remembrance. It is no doubt of volcanic origin, belched out of the bowels, and on to the surface, of the earth, by the
sulphurous upheavings of subterraneous and subaqueous fires, and cooled and solidified into monstrous masses by the
gelid currents of the deepmost waves of the most ancient of former oceans. As I before remarked, it is composed of
mixed and rounded stones, formed into rounded shapes, but some upon the eastern side are turreted, and some almost
pillars, except that their thickness is rather out of proportion to their height. The highest point of the whole, as
given before, is 1500 feet above the ground, while it is 2800 feet above the sea-level. Could I be buried at Mount
Olga, I should certainly borrow Sir Christopher Wren's epitaph, Circumspice si monumentum requiris. To the eastward
from here, as mentioned in my first expedition, and not very far off, lay another strange and singular-looking mound,
similar perhaps to this. Beyond that, and still further to the east, and a very long way off, was another mount or hill
or range, but very indistinct from distance.

On the 9th we went away to the near bare-looking mountain to the east; it was twenty miles. We found a very fine
deep pool of water lying in sand under the abrupt and rocky face of the mount upon its southern side. There was also a
fine, deep, shady, and roomy cave here, ornamented in the usual aboriginal fashion. There were two marks upon the
walls, three or four feet long, in parallel lines with spots between them.

Mr. Gosse had been here from the Gill's Range of my former expedition, and must have crossed the extremity of Lake
Amadeus. He named this Ayers' Rock. Its appearance and outline is most imposing, for it is simply a mammoth monolith
that rises out of the sandy desert soil around, and stands with a perpendicular and totally inaccessible face at all
points, except one slope near the north-west end, and that at least is but a precarious climbing ground to a height of
more than 1100 feet. Down its furrowed and corrugated sides the trickling of water for untold ages has descended in
times of rain, and for long periods after, until the drainage ceased, into sandy basins at its feet. The dimensions of
this vast slab are over two miles long, over one mile through, and nearly a quarter of a mile high. The great
difference between it and Mount Olga is in the rock formation, for this is one solid granite stone, and is part and
parcel of the original rock, which, having been formed after its state of fusion in the beginning, has there remained,
while the aged Mount Olga has been thrown up subsequently from below. Mount Olga is the more wonderful and grotesque;
Mount Ayers the more ancient and sublime. There is permanent water here, but, unlike the Mount Olga springs, it lies
all in standing pools. There is excellent grazing ground around this rock, though now the grass is very dry. It might
almost be said of this, as of the Pyramids or the Sphinx, round the decay of that colossal rock, boundless and bare,
the lone and level sands stretch far away. This certainly was a fine place for a camp. The water was icy cold; a plunge
into its sunless deeps was a frigid tonic that, further west in the summer heats, would have been almost paradisiacal,
while now it was almost a penalty. The hill or range further east seems farther away now than it did from Mount Olga.
It is flat on the summit, and no doubt is the same high and flat-topped mount I saw from the Sentinel in August last.
We are encamped in the roomy cave, for we find it much warmer than in the outer atmosphere, warmth being as great a
consideration now, as shade had formerly been.

We started for the flat-topped hill on the 11th of June. The country was all extremely heavy sandhills, with
casuarina and triodia; we had to encamp among them at twenty-three miles, without water. The next morning Formby
knocked up, and lay down, and we had to leave him in the scrub. To-day we got over thirty miles, the hill being yet
seven or eight miles off. It looks most repulsive, so far as any likelihoods of obtaining water is concerned. The
region was a perfect desert, worse for travelling, indeed, than Gibson's Desert itself. Leaving Jimmy with the horses,
Mr. Tietkens and I rode over to the mount, and reached it in seven miles. At a mile and a half from it we came to an
outer escarpment of rocks; but between that and the mount more sandhills and thick scrub exist. We rode all round this
strange feature; it was many hundreds of feet high, and for half its height its sides sloped; the crown rested upon a
perpendicular wall. It was almost circular, and perfectly flat upon the top, apparently having the same kind of
vegetation and timber upon its summit as that upon the ground below. I don't know that it is accessible; it seemed not;
I saw no place, and did not attempt to ascend it.

To the north, and about fifteen miles away, the not yet ended Amadeus Lake was visible. To the east timbered ridges
bounded the view. There were a few dry clay-pans here, but no water. We were sixty miles from the rock, and to all
appearance we might have to go sixty, or a hundred, or more miles before we should reach water. The only water I knew
on this line of latitude was at the Finke itself, nearly 200 miles away.

We must return to our Rock of Ages, for we must smoke another horse, and we have no water to push any farther here.
We returned to Jimmy and the horses, and pushed back for the rock as fast as we could. When we reached the spot where
we had left Formby he had wandered away. We went some distance on his tracks, but could not delay for a further search.
No doubt he had lain down and died not far off. I was sorry now I had not smoked him before we started, though he was
scarcely fit even for explorers' food. We got back to the rock on the 15th, very late at night, hungry and thirsty. The
next day we worked at a new smoke-house, and had to shift the camp to it, so as to be near, to keep a perpetual cloud
rising, till the meat is safe. The smoke-house is formed of four main stakes stuck into the ground and coming nearly
together at the top, with cross sticks all the way down, and covered over with tarpaulins, so that no smoke can escape
except through the top. The meat is cut into thin strips, and becomes perfectly permeated with smoke. So soon as all
was ready, down went poor Hollow Back. He was in what is called good working condition, but he had not a vestige of fat
about him. The only adipose matter we could obtain from him was by boiling his bones, and the small quantity of oil
thus obtained would only fry a few meals of steaks. When that was done we had to fry or parboil them in water. Our
favourite method of cooking the horseflesh after the fresh meat was eaten, was by first boiling and then pounding with
the axe, tomahawk head, and shoeing hammer, then cutting it into small pieces, wetting the mass, and binding it with a
pannikin of flour, putting it into the coals in the frying-pan, and covering the whole with hot ashes. But the flour
would not last, and those delicious horse-dampers, though now but things of the past, were by no means relegated to the
limbo of forgotten things. The boiled-up bones, hoofs, shanks, skull, etc., of each horse, though they failed to
produce a sufficient quantity of oil to please us, yet in the cool of the night resolved themselves into a consistent
jelly that stank like rotten glue, and at breakfast at least, when this disgusting stuff was in a measure coagulated,
we would request one another with the greatest politeness to pass the glue-pot. Had it not been that I was an inventor
of transcendent genius, even this last luxury would have been debarred us. We had been absent from civilisation, so
long, that our tin billies, the only boiling utensils we had, got completely worn or burnt out at the bottoms, and as
the boilings for glue and oil must still go on, what were we to do with billies with no bottoms? Although as an
inventor I can allow no one to depreciate my genius, I will admit there was but one thing that could be done, and those
muffs Tietkens and Jimmy actually advised me to do what I had invented, which was simply — all great inventions are
simple — to cover the bottoms with canvas, and embed the billies half-way up their sides in cold ashes, and boil from
the top instead of the bottom, which of course we did, and these were our glue- and flesh-pots. The tongue, brains,
kidneys, and other titbits of course were eaten first.

On the 19th some natives began to yell near the camp, but three only made their appearance. They were not only the
least offensive and most civil we had met on any of our travels, but they were almost endearing in their welcome to us.
We gave them some of the bones and odd pieces of horse-meat, which seemed to give them great satisfaction, and they ate
some pieces raw. They were in undress uniform, and “free as Nature first made man, ere the vile laws of servitude
began, when, wild in the woods, the noble savage ran.” They were rather good, though extremely wild-looking young men.
One of them had splendid long black curls waving in the wind, hanging down nearly to his middle; the other two had
chignons. They remained with us only about three hours. The day was windy, sand-dusty, and disagreeable. One blast of
wind blew my last thermometer, which was hanging on a sapling, so violently to the ground that it broke.

Mr. Tietkens had been using a small pair of bright steel plyers. When the endearing natives were gone it was
discovered that the plyers had departed also; it was only Christian charity to hope that they had not gone
together. It was evident that Mr. Gosse must have crossed an eastern part of Lake Amadeus to get here from Gill's
Range, and as he had a wagon, I thought I would be so far beholden to him as to make use of his crossing-place.

We left the Rock on the 23rd, but only going four miles for a start, we let the horses go back without hobbles to
feed for the night. Where the lake was crossed Mr. Gosse had laid down a broad streak of bushes and boughs, and we
crossed without much difficulty, the crossing-place being very narrow. Leaving the dray track at the lower end of
King's Creek of my former journey, we struck across for Penny's Creek, four miles east of it, where the splendid rocky
reservoir is, and where there was delicious herbage for the horses. We had now a fair and fertile tract to the River
Finke, discovered by me previously, getting water and grass at Stokes's, Bagot's, Trickett's, and Petermann's Creeks;
fish and water at Middleton's and Rogers's Pass and Ponds. Thence down the Palmer by Briscoe's Pass, and on to the
junction of the Finke, where there is a fine large water-hole at the junction.

On the 10th of July travelling down the Finke near a place called Crown Point on the telegraph line, we saw a white
man riding towards us. He proved to be a Mr. Alfred Frost, the owner of several fine horse-teams and a contractor to
supply loading for the Government to several telegraph stations farther up the line. I had known him before; he was
most kind. He was going ahead to select a camp for his large party, but upon our telling him of our having nothing but
horse-flesh, he immediately returned with us, and we met the advancing teams. He called a halt, ordered the horses to
be unyoked, and we were soon laughing and shaking hands with new-found friends. Food was the first order Mr. Frost
gave, and while some were unyoking the horses, some were boiling the tea-billies, while old Frost was extracting a
quart of rum for us from a hogshead. But we did not indulge in more than a sip or two, as bread and meat was what we
cared for most. In ten minutes the tea was ready; some splendid fat corned beef, and mustard, and well-cooked damper
were put before us, and oh, didn't we eat! Then pots of jams and tins of butter were put on our plates whole, and were
scooped up with spoons, till human organisms could do no more. We were actually full — full to repletion. Then we had
some grog. Next we had a sleep, and then at sundown another exquisite meal. It made our new friends shudder to look at
our remaining stock of Hollow Back, when we emptied it out on a tarpaulin and told them that was what we had been
living on. However, I made them a present of it for their dogs. Most of the teamsters knew Gibson, and expressed their
sorrow at his mishap; some of them also knew he was married.

The natives up the line had been very aggressive at the telegraph stations, while we were absent, and all our
firearms, etc., were eagerly purchased, also several horses and gear. Mr. Frost fell in love with Banks at a glance,
and, though I tried not to part with the horse, he was so anxious to buy him that I could not well refuse, although I
had intended to keep him and West Australian. Trew, one of the best horses, had been staked early in the journey and
his foot was blemished, otherwise he was a splendid horse. All the best horses were wanted — Diaway, Blackie, etc., but
I kept W.A., Widge, and one or two more of the best, as we still had several hundreds of miles to go.

When we parted from our friends we only had a few horses left. We reached the Charlotte Waters about twelve o'clock
on July 13th, having been nearly a year absent from civilisation. Our welcome here by my friend and namesake, Mr.
Christopher Giles, was of the warmest, and he clothed and fed us like a young father. He had also recovered and kept my
old horse Cocky. The whole of the establishment there, testified their pleasure at our return. On our arrival at the
Peake our reception by Mr. and Mrs. Blood at the telegraph station was most gratifying. Mr. John Bagot also supplied us
with many necessaries at his cattle-station. The mail contractor had a light buggy here, and I obtained a seat and was
driven by him as far as the Blinman Copper Mine, via Beltana, where I heard that my black boy Dick had died of
influenza at a camp of the semi-civilised natives near a hill called by Eyre, Mount Northwest. From the Blinman I took
the regular mail coach and train nearly 300 miles to Adelaide. Mr. Tietkens and Jimmy came behind and sold the
remaining horses at the Blinman, where they also took the coach and joined me in Adelaide a week later.

I have now but a few concluding remarks to make; for my second expedition is at an end, and those of my readers who
have followed my wanderings are perhaps as glad to arrive at the end as I was. I may truly say that for nearly twelve
months I had been the well-wrought slave not only of the sextant, the compass, and the pen, but of the shovel, the axe,
and the needle also. There had been a continual strain on brain and muscle. The leader of such an expedition as this
could not stand by and simply give orders for certain work to be performed; he must join in it, and with the good
example of heart and hand assist and cheer those with whom he was associated. To my friend and second, Mr. Tietkens, I
was under great obligations, for I found him, as my readers will have seen, always ready and ever willing for the most
arduous and disagreeable of our many undertakings. My expedition had been unsuccessful in its main object, and my most
sanguine hopes had been destroyed. I knew at starting a great deal was expected from me, and if I had not fulfilled the
hopes of my friends, I could only console them by the fact that I could not even fulfil my own. But if it is conceded
that I had done my devoir as an Australian explorer, then I am satisfied. Nothing succeeds like success, but it is not
in the power of man — however he may deserve — to command it. Many trials and many bitter hours must the explorer of
such a region experience. The life of a man is to be held at no more than a moment's purchase. The slightest accident
or want of judgment may instantly become the cause of death while engaged in such an enterprise, and it may be truly
said we passed through a baptism worse indeed than that of fire — the baptism of no water. That I should ever again
take the field is more than I would undertake to say:—

“Yet the charmed spell

Which summons man to high discovery,

Is ever vocal in the outward world;

But those alone may hear it who have hearts,

Responsive to its tone.”

I may add that I had discovered a line of waters to Sladen Water and Fort McKellar, and that at a distance of 150
miles from there lies the Alfred and Marie Range. At what price that range was sighted I need not now repeat. It is
highly probable that water exists there also.

It was, however, evident to me that it is only with camels there is much likelihood of a successful and permanently
valuable issue in case of any future attempt. There was only one gentleman in the whole of Australia who could supply
the means of its accomplishment; and to him the country at large must in future be, as it is at present, indebted for
ultimate discoveries. Of course that gentleman was the Honourable Sir Thomas Elder. To my kind friend Baron Mueller I
am greatly indebted, and I trust, though unsuccessful, I bring no discredit upon him for his exertions on my
behalf.

The map and journal of my expedition, as per agreement, was handed over to the South Australian Government, and
printed as Parliamentary Papers; some few anecdotes of things that occurred have since been added. It was not to be
supposed that in a civilised community, and amongst educated people, that such a record should pass unnoticed. I
received many compliments from men of standing. The truest, perhaps, was from a gentleman who patted me on the back and
said, “Ah, Ernest, my boy, you should never have come back; you should have sent your journal home by Tietkens and died
out there yourself.” His Excellency Sir George Bowen, the Governor of Victoria, was very kind, and not only expressed
approval of my exertions, but wrote favourable despatches on my behalf to the Colonial Office. (This was also the case
subsequently with Sir William Robinson, K.C.M.G., the Governor of Western Australia, after my arrival at Perth.) Sir
Graham Berry, the present Agent-General for the Colony of Victoria, when Premier, showed his good opinion by doing me
the good turn of a temporary appointment, for which I shall ever feel grateful.

What was generally thought of my work was the cause of subsequent explorations, as Sir Thomas Elder, the only
camel-owner in Australia, to whom, through Baron von Mueller, I was now introduced, desired me to take the field again;
and it was soon arranged that he would equip me with camels, and send me in command of a thoroughly efficient exploring
expedition. Upon this occasion I was to traverse, as near as possible, the country lying under the 29th parallel of
latitude, and I was to force my way through the southern interior to the City of Perth in Western Australia, by a new
and unknown route. But, previous to beginning the new expedition, Sir Thomas desired me to execute a commission for a
gentleman in England, of a squatting nature, in the neighbourhood of Fowler's Bay, of Flinders, on the western coast of
South Australia, and near the head of the Great Australian Bight. This work was done entirely with horses, though I had
two camels, or rather dromedaries — a bull and a cow, which had a young calf. There was no pack-saddle for the bull,
and the cow being very poor, I had not yet made use of them. After I had completed my surveys near Fowler's Bay, and
visited the remote locality of Eucla Harbour, discovered by Flinders and mentioned by Eyre in his travels in 1841, at
the boundary of the two colonies of South, and Western Australia, I had to proceed to Sir Thomas Elder's cattle and
sheep station, and camel depot, at Beltana, to fit out for the new expedition for Perth. Beltana station lies about 300
miles nearly north from the city of Adelaide, while Fowler's Bay lies 450 miles about west-north-west from that city;
and though Beltana is only 370 or 380 miles in a straight line across the country from Fowler's Bay, yet the
intervening country being mostly unknown, and the great salt depression of Lake Torrens lying in the way, I had to
travel 700 miles to reach it. As this was my first attempt with camels, I shall now give an account of my journey there
with them and three horses. This undertaking was my third expedition, and will be detailed in the following book.

Book 3.

Map 4
Third Expedition, 1875.

Chapter 3.1. From 13th March to 1st April, 1875.

Leave Fowlers Bay. Camels and horses. A great plain. A black romance. An oasis. Youldeh. Old Jimmy.
Cockata blacks. In concealment. Flies, ants, and heat. A line of waters to the east. Leave depot. The camels. Slow
progress. Lose a horse loaded with water. Tinkle of a bell. Chimpering. Heavy sand-dunes. Astray in the wilds.
Pylebung. A native dam. Inhuman mutilations. Mowling and Whitegin. The scrubs. Wynbring. A conspicuous mountain. A
native family. March flies.

While at Fowler's Bay I had heard of a native watering-place called Youldeh, that was known to one or two white
people, and I found that it lay about 130 miles inland, in a north-north-westerly direction; my object now being to
push across to Beltana to the eastwards and endeavour to find a good travelling route by which I could bring my
projected large camel expedition back to the water at Youldeh, as a starting depot for the west.

Leaving the bay on Saturday, the 13th of March, 1875, I had a strong party with me as far as Youldeh. My second in
command, Mr. Roberts, Mr. Thomas Richards, police trooper — who, having previously visited Youldeh, was going to show
me its whereabouts — and Mr. George Murray; I had with me also another white man, Peter Nicholls, who was my cook, one
old black fellow and two young ones. The old man and one young fellow went on, one day in advance and led the two
camels, the calf running loose. We all rode horses, and had several pack-horses to carry our provisions and camp
necessaries. The weather was exceedingly hot, although the previous summer months had been reasonably cool, the heat
having been tempered by southerly sea breezes. Nature now seemed to intend to concentrate all the usual heat of an
Australian summer into the two remaining months that were left to her. The thermometer usually stood for several hours
of each day at 104, 105, and 106° in the shade.

After leaving Colona, an out sheep station belonging to Fowler's Bay, lying some thirty-five miles north-west from
it, and where Mr. Murray resided, we traversed a country alternating between belts of scrub and grassy flats or small
plains, until at twenty miles from Colona we reached the edge of a plain that stretched away to the north, and was
evidently of a very great extent. The soil was loose and yielding, and of a very poor quality. Although this plain was
covered with vegetation, there was no grass whatever upon it; but a growth of a kind of broom, two to three feet high,
waving in the heated breezes as far as the eye could reach, which gave it a billowy and extraordinary appearance. The
botanical name of this plant is Eremophila scoparia.

At fifty miles from Colona and eighty-five from the bay, we reached a salt lagoon, which, though several miles long,
and perhaps a mile wide, Mr. Murray's black boy informed us was the footmark or track of a monstrous animal or snake,
that used to haunt the neighbourhood of this big plain, and that it had been driven by the Cockata blacks out of the
mountains to the north, the Musgrave Ranges of my last expedition, and which are over 400 miles from the bay. He added
that the creature had crawled down to the coast, and now lived in the sea. So here was reliable authority for the
existence of a sea serpent. We had often heard tales from the blacks, when sitting round our camp fires at night, about
this wonderful animal, and whenever any native spoke about it, it was always in a mysterious undertone. What the name
of this monster was, I cannot now remember; but there were syllables enough in it to make a word as long as the lagoon
itself. The tales that were told of it, the number of natives it had devoured, how such and such a black fellow's
father had encountered and speared it, and how it had occasionally created floods all over the country when it was
angry, would have made an excellent novel, which might be produced under the title of a “Black Romance.” When we
laughed at, or joked this young black fellow who now accompanied us, on the absurdity of his notions, he became very
serious, for to him and his co-religionists it was no laughing matter. Another thing was rather strange, and that was,
how these coast natives should know there were any mountains to the north of them. I knew it, because I had been there
and found them; but that they should know it was curious, for they have no intercourse with the tribes of natives in
the country to the north of them; indeed it required a good deal of persuasion to induce the young blacks who
accompanied us to go out to Youldeh; and if it had not been that an old man called Jimmy had been induced by Mr.
Richards to go with the camels in advance, I am quite sure the young ones would not have gone at all.

After crossing the salt lagoon or animals' track, and going five miles farther, about north-north-east, we arrived
at some granite rocks amongst some low hills, which rose up out of the plain, where some rock water-holes existed, and
here we found the two blacks that had preceded us, encamped with the camels. This pretty little place was called
Pidinga; the eye was charmed with flowering shrubs about the rocks, and green grass. As the day was very hot, we
erected tarpaulins with sticks, this being the only shade to sit under. There were a few hundred acres of good country
round the rocks; the supply of water was limited to perhaps a couple of thousand gallons. From Pidinga our route to
Youldeh lay about north-north-west, distant thirty-three miles. For about twenty-five miles we traversed an entirely
open plain, similar to that just described, and mostly covered with the waving broom bushes; but now upon our right
hand, to the north, and stretching also to the west, was a dark line of higher ground formed of sandhills and fringed
with low scrub, and timber of various kinds, such as cypress pines (callitris), black oak (casuarinas) stunted mallee
(eucalyptus), and a kind of acacia called myal. This new feature, of higher ground, formed the edge of the plain, and
is the southern bank of a vast bed of sandhill country that lies between us and the Musgrave Ranges nearly 300 miles to
the north.

Having reached the northern edge of the plain we had been traversing, we now entered the bed of sandhills and scrub
which lay before us, and, following the tracks of the two black fellows with the camels, as there was no road to
Youldeh, we came in five miles to a spot where, without the slightest indication to point out such a thing, except that
we descended into lower ground, there existed a shallow native well in the sandy ground of a small hollow between the
red sandhills, and this spot the blacks said was Youldeh. The whole region was glowing with intense heat, and the sand
was so hot, that neither the camels nor the horses could endure to remain standing in the sun, but so soon as they were
unpacked and unsaddled, sought the shade of the large and numerous leguminous bushes which grew all round the place. As
there were five whites and four blacks, we had plenty of hands to set about the different tasks which had to be
performed. In the first place we had to dig out the old well; this some volunteered to do, while others erected an
awning with tarpaulins, got firewood, and otherwise turned the wild and bushy spot into a locality suitable for a white
man's encampment. Water was easily procurable at a depth of between three and four feet, and all the animals drank as
much as they desired, being watered with canvas buckets; the camels appeared as though they never would be
satisfied.

It was only their parching thirst that induced the horses to remain anywhere near the camels, and immediately they
got sufficient water, they de-camped, though short-hobbled, at a gallop over the high red sandhills from whence we had
come; my riding-horse, Chester, the worst of the mob, went nearly mad at the approach of the camels. There was not a
sign of a blade of grass, or anything else that horses could eat, except a few yellow immortelles of a large coarse
description, and these they did not care very much for. The camels, on the contrary, could take large and evidently
agreeable mouthfuls of the leaves of the great bushes of the Leguminosae, which abounded. The conduct of the two kinds
of animals was so distinctly different as to arouse the curiosity of all of us; the camels fed in peaceful content in
the shade of the bushes from which they ate, and never went out of sight, seeming to take great interest in all we did,
and evidently thoroughly enjoying themselves, while the horses were plunging about in hobbles over the sandhills,
snorting and fretting with fright and exertion, and neither having or apparently desiring to get anything to eat. Their
sole desire was to get away as far as possible from the camels. The supply of water here seemed to be unlimited, but
the sandy sides of the well kept falling in; therefore we got some stakes of mallee, and saplings of the native poplar
(Codonocarpus cotinifolius, of the order of Phytolaccaceae), and thoroughly slabbed it, at least sufficiently for our
time. This place, as I said before, was exceedingly hot, lying at the bottom of a hollow amongst the sandhills, and all
we could see from the tops of any of those near us was a mass of higher, darker, and more forbidding undulations of a
similar kind. These undulations existed to the east, north, and west, while to the south we could but dimly see the
mirage upon the plain we had recently traversed. The water here was fresh and sweet, and if the temperature had not
been quite so hot, we might have enjoyed our encampment here; but there was no air, and we seemed to be at the bottom
of a funnel. The old black fellow, Jimmy, whom Mr. Richards had obtained as a guide to show me some waters in the
country to the eastwards, informed us, through the interpretation of Mr. Murray, that he knew of only one water in any
direction towards the west, and this he said was a small rock water-hole called Paring.

The following day Mr. Murray and I rode there with old Jimmy, and found it to be a wretched little hole, lying
nearly west-north-west about fourteen miles away; it contained only a few gallons of water, which was almost putrid
from the number of dead and decaying birds, rats, lizards, rotten leaves, and sticks that were in it; had it been full
it would have been of no earthly use to me. Old Jimmy was not accustomed to riding, and got out of his latitude once or
twice before we reached the place. He was, however, proud of finding himself in the novel position, albeit rather late
in life, of riding upon horseback, and if I remember rightly did not tumble off more than three or four times during
the whole day. Jimmy was a very agreeable old gentleman; I could not keep up a conversation with him, as I knew so few
words of his language, and he knew only about twenty of mine. It was evident he was a man of superior abilities to most
of his race, and he looked like a thoroughbred, and had always been known to Mr. Richards as a proud and honourable old
fellow. He was, moreover, the father of a large family, namely five, which is probably an unprecedented number amongst
the aboriginal tribes of this part of Australia, all of whom he had left behind, as well as his wife, to oblige me; and
many a time he regretted this before he saw them again, and after; not from any unkindness on my part, for my readers
will see we were the best of friends the whole time we were together. On this little excursion it was very amusing to
watch old Jimmy on horseback, and to notice the look of blank amazement on his face when he found himself at fault
amongst the sandhills; the way he excused himself for not going straight to this little spot was also very ingenuous.
In the first place he said, “Not mine young fellow now; not mine like em pony”— the name for all horses at Fowler's Bay
—“not mine see 'em Paring long time, only when I am boy.” Whereby he intended to imply that some allowance must be made
for his not going perfectly straight to the place. However, we got there all right, although I found it to be useless.
When asked concerning the country to the north, he declared it was Cockata; the country to the west was also Cockata,
the dreaded name of Cockata appearing to carry a nameless undefined horror with it. The term of Cockata blacks is
applied by the Fowler's Bay natives to all other tribes of aboriginals in the country inland from the coast, and it
seems, although when Fowler's Bay country was first settled by the whites these natives attacked and killed several of
the invaders, they always lived in terror of their enemies to the north, and any atrocity that was committed by
themselves, either cannibalism, theft, or murder, was always put down to the account of the Cockatas. Occasionally a
mob of these wilder aboriginals would make a descent upon the quieter coast-blacks, and after a fight would carry off
women and other spoils, such as opossum rugs, spears, shields, coolamins — vessels of wood or bark, like small canoes,
for carrying water — and they usually killed several of the men of the conquered race. After remaining at this Paring
for about an hour, we remounted our horses and returned to the camp at Youldeh. The party remained there for a few
days, hoping for a change in the weather, as the heat was now very great and the country in the neighbourhood of the
most forbidding and formidable nature to penetrate. It consisted of very high and scrubby red sandhills, and it was
altogether so unpleasing a locality that I abandoned the idea of pushing to the north, to discover whether any other
waters could be found in that direction, for the present, and postponed the attempt until I should return to this depot
en route for Perth, with the whole of my new expedition — deciding to make my way now to the eastwards in order to
reach Beltana by a route previously untravelled.

Upon the morning after my return from Paring, all the horses were away — indeed, as I have said before, there was
nothing for them to eat at this place, and they always rambled as far as they could possibly go from the camp to get
away from the camels, although those more sensible animals were, so to say, in clover. We had three young black fellows
and old Jimmy, and it was the young ones' duty to look after and get the horses, while old Jimmy had the easier
employment of taking care of the camels. This morning, two of the young blacks were sent out very early for the horses,
whilst the other and old Jimmy remained to do anything that might be required at the camp. The morning was hot and
oppressive, we sat as comfortably as we could in the shade of our awning; by twelve o'clock no signs of black boys or
horses had made their appearance. At one o'clock we had dinner, and gave old Jimmy and his mate theirs. I noticed that
the younger black left the camp with a bit of a bundle under his shirt and a canvas water-bag; I and some of the others
watched whither he went, and to our surprise we found that he was taking food and water to the other two boys, who
should have been away after the horses, but were quietly encamped under a big bush within a quarter of a mile of us and
had never been after the horses at all. Of course we were very indignant, and were going to punish them with a good
thrashing, when one of them informed us that it was no use our hammering them, for they could not go for the horses
because they were too much afraid of the Cockata blacks, and unless we sent old Jimmy or a white man they would not go
out of sight of the camp. This showed the state of superstition and fear in which these people live. Indeed, I believe
if the whole Fowler's Bay tribes were all encamped together in one mob round their own fires, in their own country, and
any one ran into the camp and shouted “Cockata,” it would cause a stampede among them immediately. It was very annoying
to think that the horses had got so many hours' start away from the camp, and the only thing I could do was to send a
white man, and Jimmy, with these boys to find the absent animals. Mr. Roberts volunteered, and had to camp away from
water, not returning until late the following day, with only about a third of the mob. The next day all were found but
three — one was a police horse of Mr. Richards's, which was never seen after, and two colts of mine which found their
way back to, and were eventually recovered at, Fowler's Bay by Mr. Roberts. While encamped here we found Youldeh to be
a fearful place, the ants, flies, and heat being each intolerable. We were at the bottom of a sandy funnel, into which
the fiery beams of the sun were poured in burning rays, and the radiation of heat from the sandy country around made it
all the hotter. Not a breath of air could be had as we lay or sat panting in the shade we had erected with our
tarpaulins. There was no view for more than a hundred yards anywhere, unless one climbed to the top of a sandhill, and
then other sandhills all round only were to be seen. The position of this place I found to be in latitude 30° 24´ 10´´
and approximate longitude 131° 46´. On the 23rd of March Mr. Murray, Jimmy, and I, went to the top of a sandhill
overlooking the camp and had a long confabulation with Jimmy — at least Mr. Murray had, and he interpreted the old
fellow's remarks to me. It appeared that he knew the country, and some watering-places in it, for some distance to the
eastward, and on making a kind of map on the sand, he put down several marks, which he called by the following names,
namely, Chimpering, Pylebung, Mowling, Whitegin, and Wynbring; of these he said Pylebung and Wynbring were the best
waters. By his account they all lay due east from hence, and they appeared to be the most wonderful places in the
world. He said he had not visited any of these places since he was a little boy with his mother, and it appeared his
mother was a widow and that these places belonged to her country, but that she had subsequently become the wife of a
Fowler's Bay native, who had taken her and her little Jimmy away out of that part of the country, therefore he had not
been there since. He said that Pylebung was a water that stood up high, and that Cockata black fellows had made it with
wooden shovels. This account certainly excited my curiosity, as I had never seen anything which could approximate to
Jimmy's description; he also said it was mucka pickaninny, only big one, which meant that it was by no means a small
water. Chimpering and Whitegin, he said, were rock-holes, but Wynbring, the farthest water he knew, according to his
account was something astounding. He said it was a mountain, a waterhole, a lake, a spring, and a well, all in one, and
that it was distant about six sleeps from Youldeh; this, according to our rendering, as Jimmy declared also that it was
mucka close up, only long way, we considered to be about 120 miles. Beyond Wynbring Jimmy knew nothing whatever of the
country, and I think he had a latent idea in his mind that there really was nothing beyond it. The result of our
interview was, that I determined to send all the party back to Fowler's Bay, except one white man and old Jimmy, also
all the horses except three, and to start with this small party and the camels to the eastward on the following day. I
selected Peter Nicholls to accompany me. I found the boiling-point of water at the camp was 211° making its altitude
above the sea 509 feet. The sandhills were about 100 feet high on the average.

The two camels and the calf, were sent to me by Sir Thomas Elder, from Adelaide, while I was at Fowler's Bay, by an
Afghan named Saleh Mahomet, who returned to, and met me at, Beltana, by the ordinary way of travellers. There was only
a riding-saddle for the cow, the bull having come bare-backed; I therefore had to invent a pack- or baggage-saddle for
him, and I venture to assert that 999,999 people out of every million would rather be excused the task. In this work I
was ably seconded by Mr. Richards, who did most of the sewing and pad-making, but Mr. Armstrong, one of the owners and
manager of the Fowler's Bay Station, though he supplied me in profusion with every other requisite, would not let me
have the size of iron I wished, and I had to take what I could get, he thinking it the right size; and unfortunately
that which I got for the saddle-trees was not stout enough, and, although in other respects the saddle was a brilliant
success, though made upon a totally different principle from that of an Afghan's saddle, when the animal was loaded,
the weakness of the iron made it continually widen, and in consequence the iron pressed down on the much-enduring
creature's body and hurt him severely.

We frequently had to stop, take his load and saddle off and bend the iron closer together again, so as to preserve
some semblance of an arch or rather two arches over his back, one before and one behind his hump. Every time Nicholls
and I went through this operation we were afraid the iron would give, and snap in half with our pressure, and so it
would have done but that the fiery rays of the sun kept it almost at a glowing heat. This and the nose ropes and
buttons getting so often broken, together with making new buttons from pieces of stick, caused us many harassing
delays.

On the 24th of March, 1875, we bade good-bye to the friends that had accompanied us to this place, and who all
started to return to the bay the same day. With Peter Nicholls, old Jimmy as guide, the two camels and calf, and three
horses, I turned my back upon the Youldeh camp, somewhat late in the day. Nicholls rode the old cow, Jimmy and I riding
a horse each, the third horse carrying a load of water. Two of these horses were the pick of the whole mob I had; they
were still terribly frightened at the camels, and it was almost impossible to sit my horse Chester when the camels came
near him behind; the horse carrying the water followed the two riding-horses, but towards dusk he got frightened and
bolted away into the scrubs, load of water and all. We had only come seven miles that afternoon, and it was our first
practical acquaintance with camels; Jimmy and I had continually to wait till Nicholls and the camels, made their
appearance, and whenever Nicholls came up he was in a fearful rage with them. The old cow that he was riding would
scarcely budge for him at all. If he beat her she would lie down, yell, squall, spit, and roll over on her saddle, and
behave in such a manner that, neither of us knowing anything about camels, we thought she was going to die. The
sandhills were oppressively steep, and the old wretch perspired to such a degree, and altogether became such an
unmanageable nuisance, that I began to think camels could not be half the wonderful animals I had fondly imagined.

The bull, Mustara, behaved much better. He was a most affectionate creature, and would kiss people all day long; but
the Lord help any one who would try to kiss the old cow, for she would cover them all over with — well, we will call it
spittle, but it is worse than that. The calf would kiss also when caught, but did not care to be caught too often.
Mustara had a good heavy load — he followed the cow without being fastened; the calf, with great cunning, not relishing
the idea of leaving Youldeh, would persistently stay behind and try and induce his mother not to go on; in this he
partially succeeded, for by dusk, just as I found I had lost the pack-horse with the water, and was waiting till
Nicholls, who was following our horse tracks, came up to us, we had travelled at no better speed than a mile an hour
since we left the camp. The two remaining horses were so restless that I was compelled to stand and hold them while
waiting, old Jimmy being away in the darkness to endeavour to find the missing one. By the time Nicholls arrived with
the camels, guided now by the glare of a large fire of a Mus conditor's nest which old Jimmy ignited, the horse had
been gone about two hours; thus our first night's bivouac was not a pleasant one. There was nothing that the horses
would eat, and if they had been let go, even in hobbles, in all probability we should never have seen them again. Old
Jimmy returned after a fruitless search for the absent horse. The camels would not feed, but lay down in a sulky fit,
the two horses continually snorting and endeavouring to break away; and thus the night was passing away, when we heard
the tinkle of a bell — the horse we had lost having a bell on his neck — and Jimmy and Nicholls went away through the
darkness and scrubs in the direction it proceeded from. I kept up a large fire to guide them, not that old Jimmy
required such artificial aid, but to save time; in about an hour they returned with the missing horse. When this animal
took it into his head to bolt off he was out of earshot in no time, but it seems he must have thought better of his
proceedings, and returned of his own accord to where he had left his mates. We were glad enough to secure him again,
and the water he carried.

The next morning we were under weigh very early, and, following the old guide Jimmy, we went in a south-east
direction towards the first watering place that he knew, and which he said was called Chimpering. Many times before we
reached this place the old fellow seemed very uncertain of his whereabouts, but by dodging about amongst the sandhills
— the country being all rolling hummocks of red sand covered with dense scrubs and the universal spinifex — he managed
to drop down upon it, after we had travelled about thirty miles from Youldeh. Chimpering consisted of a small acacia,
or as we say a mulga, hollow, the mulga being the Acacia aneura; here a few bare red granite rocks were exposed to
view. In a crevice between two of these Jimmy showed us a small orifice, which we found, upon baling out, to contain
only three buckets of a filthy black fluid that old Jimmy declared was water. We annoyed him fearfully by pretending we
did not know what it was. Poor old chap, he couldn't explain how angry he was, but he managed to stammer out, “White
fellow — fool; pony drink 'em.” The day was excessively hot, the thermometer stood at 106° in the shade. The horses or
ponies, as universally called at Fowler's Bay, drank the dirty water with avidity. It was early in the day when we
arrived, and so soon as the water was taken, we pushed on towards the next place, Pylebung. At Youldeh our guide had so
excited my curiosity about this place, that I was most anxious to reach it. Jimmy said it was not very far off.

On the night of the 26th March, just as it was getting dark and having left Chimpering twenty-five miles behind us,
we entered a piece of bushy mulga country, the bushes being so thick that we had great difficulty in forcing our way
through it in the dark. Our guide seemed very much in the dark also; his movements were exceedingly uncertain, and I
could see by the stars that we were winding about to all points of the compass. At last old Jimmy stopped and said we
had reached the place where Pylebung ought to be, but it was not; and here, he said, pointing to the ground, was to be
our wurley, or camp, for the night. When I questioned him, and asked where the water was, he only replied, which way?
This question I was altogether unable to answer, and I was not in a very amiable frame of mind, for we had been
traversing frightful country of dense scrubs all day in parching thirst and broiling heat. So I told Nicholls to unpack
the camels while I unsaddled the horses. All the animals seemed over-powered with lassitude and exhaustion; the camels
immediately lay down, and the horses stood disconsolately close to them, now no longer terrified at their
proximity.

Nicholls and I extended our rugs upon the ground and lay down, and then we discovered that old Jimmy had left the
camp, and thought he had given us the slip in the dark. We had been lying down some time when the old fellow returned,
and in the most voluble and excited language told us he had found the water; it was, he said, “big one, watta, mucka,
pickaninny;” and in his delight at his success he began to describe it, or try to do so, in the firelight, on the
ground; he kept saying, “big one, watta — big one, watta — watta go that way, watta go this way, and watta go that way,
and watta go this way,” turning himself round and round, so that I thought it must be a lake or swamp he was trying to
describe. However, we got the camels and horses resaddled and packed, and took them where old Jimmy led us. The moon
had now risen above the high sandhills that surrounded us, and we soon emerged upon a piece of open ground where there
was a large white clay-pan, or bare patch of white clay soil, glistening in the moon's rays, and upon this there
appeared an astonishing object — something like the wall of an old house or a ruined chimney. On arriving, we saw that
it was a circular wall or dam of clay, nearly five feet high, with a segment open to the south to admit and retain the
rain-water that occasionally flows over the flat into this artificial receptacle.

In spite of old Jimmy's asseverations, there was only sufficient water to last one or two days, and what there was,
was very thick and whitish-coloured. The six animals being excessively thirsty, the volume of the fluid gradually
diminished in the moonlight before our eyes; the camels and horses' legs and noses were all pushing against one another
while they drank.

This wall, or dam, constructed by the aboriginals, is the first piece of work of art or usefulness that I had ever
seen in all my travels in Australia; and if I had only heard of it, I should seriously have reflected upon the
credibility of my informant, because no attempts of skill, or ingenuity, on the part of Australian natives, applied to
building, or the storage of water, have previously been met with, and I was very much astonished at beholding one now.
This piece of work was two feet thick on the top of the wall, twenty yards in the length of its sweep, and at the
bottom, where the water lodged, the embankment was nearly five feet thick. The clay of which this dam was composed had
been dug out of the hole in which the water lay, with small native wooden shovels, and piled up to its present
dimensions.

Immediately around this singular monument of native industry, there are a few hundred acres of very pretty country,
beautifully grassed and ornamented with a few mulga (acacia) trees, standing picturesquely apart. The spot lies in a
basin or hollow, and is surrounded in all directions by scrubs and rolling sandhills. How we got to it I can scarcely
tell, as our guide kept constantly changing his course, so that the compass was of little or no use, and it was only by
the sextant I could discover our whereabouts; by it I found we had come fifty-eight miles from Youldeh on a bearing of
south 68° east, we being now in latitude 30° 43´ and longitude 132° 44´. There was so little water here that I was
unable to remain more than one day, during which the thermometer indicated 104° in the shade.

To the eastward of this dam there was a sandhill with a few black oaks (casuarinas) growing upon it, about a quarter
of a mile away. A number of stones of a calcareous nature were scattered about on it; on going up this hill the day we
rested the animals here, I was surprised to find a broad path had been cleared amongst the stones for some dozens of
yards, an oak-tree at each end being the terminal points. At the foot of each tree at the end of the path the largest
stones were heaped; the path was indented with the tramplings of many natives' feet, and I felt sure that it was one of
those places where the men of this region perform inhuman mutilations upon the youths and maidens of their tribe. I
questioned old Jimmy about these matters, but he was like all others of his race, who, while admitting the facts,
protest that they, individually, have never officiated at such doings.

Upon leaving Pylebung Jimmy informed me that Mowling was the next watering-place, and said it lay nearly east from
here; but I found we went nearly north-east to reach it; this we did in seventeen miles, the country through which we
passed being, as usual, all sandhills and scrub. Mowling consisted of a small acacia hollow, where there were a few
boulders of granite; in these were two small holes, both as dry as the surface of the rocks in their vicinity. On our
route from Pylebung, we had seen the tracks of a single bullock; he also had found his way to Mowling, and probably
left it howling; but it must have been some time since his visit.

From hence old Jimmy led us a good deal south of east, and we arrived at another exposure of granite rocks in the
dense scrubs. This place Jimmy called Whitegin. It was ten or eleven miles from Mowling. There was a small crevice
between the rounded boulders of rock, which held barely sufficient water for the three horses, the camels getting none,
though they persisted in bothering us all the afternoon, and appeared very thirsty. They kept coming up to the camp
perpetually, pulling our canvas bucket and tin utensils about with their lips, and I found the cunning of a camel in
endeavouring to get water at the camp far exceeded that of any horse.

There were a few dozen acres of pretty ground here with good grass and herbage on it. We had a great deal of trouble
to-day in getting the camels along; the foal or calf belonging to the old riding-cow got itself entangled in its
mother's nose-rope, and as we did not then understand the management of camels, and how their nose-ropes should be
adjusted, we could not prevent the little brute from tearing the button clean through the cartilage of the poor old
cow's nose; this not only caused the animal frightful pain, but made her more obstinate and stubborn and harder to get
along than before. The agony the poor creature suffered from flies must have been excruciating, as after this accident
they entered her nostrils in such numbers that she often hung back, and would cough and snort until she had ejected a
great quantity of blood and flies from her nose.

For the last few miles we had not been annoyed by quite so much spinifex as usual, but the vast amount of dead wood
and underbrush was very detrimental to the progress of the camels, who are not usually in the habit of lifting their
feet very high, though having the power, they learn it in time, but not before their toes got constantly entangled with
the dead sticks, which made them very sore.

The scrub here and all the way we had come consisted mostly of mallee (Eucalyptus dumosa) mulga, prickly bushes
(hakea), some grevillea-trees, and a few oaks (casuarinas). This place, Whitegin, was eighty-five miles straight from
Youldeh; we had, however, travelled about 100 miles to reach it, as Jimmy kept turning and twisting about in the scrubs
in all directions. On leaving Whitegin we travelled several degrees to north of east, the thermometer in the shade
while we rested there going up to 103°. Jimmy said the next place we should get water at was Wynbring, and from what we
could make out of his jargon, he seemed to imply that Wynbring was a large watercourse descending from a mountain and
having a stony bed; he also said we were now close up, and that it was only a pickaninny way. However, the shades of
night descended upon us once more in the scrubs of this desert, and we were again compelled to encamp in a place
lonely, and without water, amidst the desolations of this scrub-enthroned tract. Choking with thirst and sleepless with
anxiety, we pass the hours of night; no dews descend upon this heated place, and though towards dawn a slightly cooler
temperature is felt, the reappearance of the sun is now so near, that there has been no time for either earth or man to
be benefited by it. Long before the sun himself appears, those avant-couriers of his fiery might, heated glow, and
feverish breeze, came rustling through the foliage of the mallee-trees, which give out the semblance of a mournful
sigh, as though they too suffered from the heat and thirst of this desolate region, in which they are doomed by fate to
dwell, and as though they desired to let the wanderers passing amongst them know, that they also felt, and were sorry
for, our woes.

The morning of March 31st was exceedingly hot, the thermometer at dawn standing at 86°. We were up and after the
camels and horses long before daylight, tracking them by the light of burning torches of great bunches and boughs of
the mallee trees — these burn almost as well green as dry, from the quantity of aromatic eucalyptic oil contained in
them — and enormous plots of spinifex which we lighted as we passed.

Having secured all the animals, we started early, and were moving onwards before sunrise. From Whitegin I found we
had come on a nearly north-east course, and at twenty-eight miles from thence the scrubs fell off a trifle in height
and density. This morning our guide travelled much straighter than was usual with him, and it was evident he had now no
doubt that he was going in the right direction. About ten o'clock, after we had travelled thirteen or fourteen miles,
Jimmy uttered an exclamation, pointed out something to us, and declared that it was Wynbring. Then I could at once
perceive how excessively inaccurate, the old gentleman's account of Wynbring had been, for instead of its being a
mountain, it was simply a round bare mass of stone, standing in the centre of an open piece of country, surrounded as
usual by the scrubs. When we arrived at the rock, we found the large creek channel, promised us had microscopicated
itself down to a mere rock-hole, whose dimensions were not very great. The rock itself was a bare expanse of granite,
an acre or two in extent, and was perhaps fifty feet high, while the only receptacle for water about it was a crevice
forty feet long, by four feet wide, with a depth of six feet in its deepest part. The hole was not full, but it held an
ample supply for all our present requirements.

There were a few low sandhills near, ornamented with occasional mulga-trees, and they made the place very pretty and
picturesque. There were several old and new native gunyahs, or houses, if such a term can be applied to these
insignificant structures. Australian aborigines are a race who do not live in houses at all, but still the common
instincts of humanity induce all men to try and secure some spot of earth which, for a time at least, they may call
home; and though the nomadic inhabitants or owners of these Australian wilds, do not remain for long in any one
particular place, in consequence of the game becoming too wild or destroyed, or water being used up or evaporated, yet,
wherever they are located, every man or head of a family has his home and his house, to which he returns in after
seasons. The natives in this, as in most other parts of Australia, seldom hunt without making perpetual grass or
spinifex fires, and the traveller in these wilds may be always sure that the natives are in the neighbourhood when he
can see the smokes, but it by no means follows that because there are smokes there must be water. An inversion of the
terms would be far more correct, and you might safely declare that because there is water there are sure to be smokes,
and because there are smokes there are sure to be fires and because there are fires there are sure to be natives, the
present case being no exception to the rule, as several columns of smoke appeared in various directions. Old Jimmy's
native name was Nanthona; in consequence he was generally called Anthony, but he liked neither; he preferred Jimmy, and
asked me always to call him so. When at Youldeh the old fellow had mentioned this spot, Wynbring, as the farthest water
he knew to the eastwards, and now that we had arrived at it, he declared that beyond it there was nothing; it was the
ultima thule of all his geographical ideas; he had never seen, heard, or thought of anything beyond it. It was
certainly a most agreeable little oasis, and an excellent spot for an explorer to come to in such a frightful region.
Here were the three requisites that constitute an explorer's happiness — that is to say, wood, water, and grass, there
being splendid green feed and herbage on the few thousand acres of open ground around the rock. The old black guide had
certainly brought us to this romantic and secluded little spot, with, I suppose I may say, unerring precision, albeit
he wound about so much on the road, and made the distance far greater than it should have been. I was, however, struck
with admiration at his having done so at all, and how he or any other human being, not having the advantages of science
at his command to teach him, by the use of the heavenly bodies, how to find the position of any locality, could
possibly return to the places we had visited in such a wilderness, especially as it was done by the recollection of
spots which, to a white man, have no special features and no guiding points, was really marvellous. We had travelled at
least 120 miles eastward from Youldeh, and when there, this old fellow had told us that he had not visited any of the
places he was going to take me to since his boyhood; this at the very least must have been forty years ago, for he was
certainly fifty, if not seventy, years old. The knowledge possessed by these children of the desert is preserved owing
to the fact that their imaginations are untrammelled, the denizens of the wilderness, having their mental faculties put
to but few uses, and all are concentrated on the object of obtaining food for themselves and their offspring. Whatever
ideas they possess, and they are by no means dull or backward in learning new ones, are ever keen and young, and Nature
has endowed them with an undying mental youth, until their career on earth is ended. As says a poet, speaking of
savages or men in a state of nature:—

“There the passions may revel unfettered,

And the heart never speak but in truth;

And the intellect, wholly unlettered,

Be bright with the freedom of youth.”

Assuredly man in a savage state, is by no means the unhappiest of mortals. Old Jimmy's faculties of memory were put
to the test several times during the eight days we were travelling from Youldeh to this rock. Sometimes when leading us
through the scrubs, and having travelled for some miles nearly east, he would notice a tree or a sandhill, or something
that he remembered, and would turn suddenly from that point in an entirely different direction, towards some high and
severe sandhill; here he would climb a tree. After a few minutes' gazing about, he would descend, mount his horse, and
go off on some new line, and in the course of a mile or so he would stop at a tree, and tell us that when a little boy
he got a 'possum out of a hole which existed in it. At another place he said his mother was bitten by a wild dog, which
she was digging out of a hole in the ground; and thus we came to Wynbring at last.

A conspicuous mountain — indeed the only object upon which the eye could rest above the dense scrubs that surrounded
us — bore south 52° east from this rock, and I supposed it was Mount Finke. Our advent disturbed a number of natives;
their fresh footprints were everywhere about the place, and our guide not being at ease in his mind as to what sort of
reception he might get from the owners of this demesne, told me if I would let him have a gun, he would go and hunt
them up, and try to induce some of them to come to the camp. The old chap had but limited experience of firearms, so I
gave him an unloaded gun, as he might have shot himself, or any other of the natives, without intending to do any harm.
Away he went, and returned with five captives, an antiquated one-eyed old gentleman, with his three wives, and one baby
belonging to the second wife, who had been a woman of considerable beauty. She was now rather past her prime. What the
oldest wife could ever have been like, it was impossible to guess, as now she seemed more like an old she-monkey than
anything else. The youngest was in the first flush of youth and grace. The new old man was very tall, and had been very
big and powerful, but he was now shrunken and grey with age. He ordered his wives to sit down in the shade of a bush
near our camp; this they did. I walked towards the old man, when he immediately threw his aged arms round me, and
clasped me rapturously to his ebony breast. Then his most ancient wife followed his example, clasping me in the same
manner. The second wife was rather incommoded in her embrace by the baby in her arms, and it squalled horridly the
nearer its mother put it to me. The third and youngest wife, who was really very pretty, appeared enchantingly bashful,
but what was her bashfulness compared to mine, when compelled for mere form's sake to enfold in my arms a beautiful and
naked young woman? It was really a distressing ordeal. She showed her appreciation of our company by the glances of her
black and flashing eyes, and the exposure of two rows of beautifully even and pearly teeth.

However charming woman may look in a nude or native state, with all her youthful graces about her, still the poetic
line, that beauty unadorned, adorned the most, is not entirely true. Woman never appears so thoroughly charming as when
her graces are enveloped in a becoming dress. These natives all seemed anxious that I should give them names, and I
took upon myself the responsibility of christening them. The young beauty I called Polly, the mother Mary, the baby
Kitty, the oldest woman Judy, and to the old man I gave the name of Wynbring Tommy, as an easy one for him to remember
and pronounce. There exists amongst the natives of this part of the continent, an ancient and Oriental custom which
either compels or induces the wife or wives of a man who is in any way disfigured in form or feature to show their
love, esteem, or obedience, by becoming similarly disfigured, on the same principle that Sindbad the Sailor was buried
with his wife. In this case the two elder wives of this old man had each relinquished an eye, and no doubt the time was
soon approaching when the youngest would also show her conjugal fidelity and love by similar mutilation, unless the old
heathen should happen to die shortly and she become espoused to some other, rejoicing in the possession of a full
complement of eyes — a consummation devoutly to be wished.

The position of this rock and watering-place I found to be in latitude 30° 32´ and longitude 133° 30´. The heat
still continued very great, the thermometer at its highest reading never indicating less than 104° in the shade while
we were here. The flies at this place, and indeed for weeks before we reached it, were terribly numerous, and we were
troubled also with myriads of the large March flies, those horrid pests about twice the size of the blowfly, and which
bite men, horses, and camels, and all other animals indiscriminately. These wretches would not allow either us or the
animals a moment's respite, from dawn to dusk; they almost ate the poor creatures alive, and kept them in a state of
perpetual motion in their hobbles during daylight all the while we were here. In the daytime it was only by continued
use of our hands, in waving a handkerchief or bough, that we kept them partially off ourselves, for with all our
efforts to drive them away, we were continually bitten and stung almost to madness. I have often been troubled by these
flies in other parts of Australia, but I never experienced so much pain and annoyance as at this place. The hideous
droning noise which a multitude of these insects make is quite enough to destroy one's peace, but when their incessant
bites are added, existence becomes a burden.

Since we left Youldeh, and there also, the days had been frightfully hot, and the nights close, cloudy, and sultry.
The only currents of air that ever stirred the foliage of the trees in the daytime were like the breath from a furnace,
while at night there was hardly any at all. The 1st of April, the last day we remained here, was the hottest day we had
felt. Life was almost insupportable, and I determined to leave the place upon the morrow. There had evidently been some
rain at this rock lately, as the grass and herbage were green and luxuriant, and the flies so numerous. It was most
fortunate for us, as my subsequent narrative will show, that we had some one to guide us to this spot, which I found by
observation lay almost east of Youldeh, and was distant from that depot 110 miles in a straight line. Old Jimmy knew
nothing whatever of the region which lay beyond, and though I endeavoured to get him to ask the old man and his wives
where any other waters existed, all the information I could gather from these persons was, that there was a big
mountain and no water at it. The old man at last found enough English to say, “Big fellow Poonta (stones, hills, or
mountains) and mucka carpee,” which means no water. I gave these poor people a little damper and some tea each, and
Polly some sugar, when they departed. Old Jimmy seemed very unwilling to go any farther eastwards, giving me to
understand that it was a far better plan to return to Fowler's Bay, and that he would show me some new watering-places
if I would only follow him. To this, of course, I turned a deaf ear.

The nearest water on the route I desired to travel, was at Sir Thomas Elder's cattle station, at the Finniss
Springs, under the Hermit Hill, distant from this rock about 250 miles in a straight line; but as the mountain to the
south-east looked so conspicuous and inviting, I determined to visit it, in spite of what the old black fellow had said
about there being no water, though it lay considerably out of the straight road to where I wanted to go. It looked high
and rugged, and I thought to find water in some rock-hole or crevice about it.

Chapter 3.2. From 2nd April to 6th May, 1875.

Leave Wynbring. The horses. Mountains of sand. Mount Finke. One horse succumbs. Torchlight tracking.
Trouble with the camels. A low mount. Dry salt lagoons. 200 miles yet from water. Hope. Death of Chester. The last
horse. A steede, a steede. Ships of the desert. Reflections at night. Death or Water. The Hermit Hill. Black shepherds
and shepherdesses. The Finniss Springs. Victims to the bush. Footprints on the sands of time. Alec Ross. Reach
Beltana.

On the 2nd April we departed from this friendly depot at Wynbring Rock, taking our three horses, the two camels and
the calf. The morning was as hot as fire; at midday we watered all our animals, and having saddled and packed them, we
left the place behind us. On the two camels we carried as much water as we had vessels to hold it, the quantity being
nearly fifty gallons. The horses were now on more friendly terms with them, so that they could be led by a person on
horseback. Old Jimmy, now no longer a guide, was not permitted to take the lead, but rode behind, to see that nothing
fell off the camels' saddles. I rode in advance, on my best horse Chester, a fine, well-set chestnut cob, a horse I was
very fond of, as he had proved himself so good. Nicholls rode a strong young grey horse called Formby; he also had
proved himself to my satisfaction to be a good one. Jimmy was mounted on an old black horse, that was a fine ambler,
the one that bolted away with the load of water the first night we started from Youldeh. He had not stood the journey
from Youldeh at all well; the other two were quite fresh and hearty when we left Wynbring.

By the evening of the 2nd we had made only twenty-two miles. We found the country terrific; the ground rose into
sandhills so steep and high, that all our animals were in a perfect lather of sweat. The camels could hardly be got
along at all. At night, where we were compelled by darkness to encamp, there was nothing for the horses to eat, so the
poor brutes had to be tied up, lest they should ramble back to Wynbring. There was plenty of food for the camels, as
they could eat the leaves of some of the bushes, but they were too sulky to eat because they were tied up. The bull
continually bit his nose-rope through, and made several attempts to get away, the calf always going with him, leaving
his mother: this made her frantic to get away too. The horses got frightened, and were snorting and jumping about,
trying to break loose all night. The spot we were in was a hollow, between two high sandhills, and not a breath of air
relieved us from the oppression of the atmosphere. Peter Nicholls and I were in a state of thirst and perspiration the
whole night, running about after the camels and keeping the horses from breaking away. If the cow had got loose, we
could not have prevented the camels clearing off. I was never more gratified than at the appearance of the next
morning's dawn, as it enabled us to move away from this dreadful place. It was impossible to travel through this region
at night, even by moonlight; we should have lost our eyes upon the sticks and branches of the direful scrubs if we had
attempted it, besides tearing our skin and clothes to pieces also. Starting at earliest dawn, and traversing formidably
steep and rolling waves of sand, we at length reached the foot of the mountain we had been striving for, in
twenty-three miles, forty-five from Wynbring. I could not help thinking it was the most desolate heap on the face of
the earth, having no water or places that could hold it. The elevation of this eminence was over 1000 feet above the
surrounding country, and over 2000 feet above the sea. The country visible from its summit was still enveloped in dense
scrubs in every direction, except on a bearing a few degrees north of east, where some low ridges appeared. I rode my
horse Chester many miles over the wretched stony slopes at the foot of this mountain, and tied him up to trees while I
walked to its summit, and into gullies and crevices innumerable, but no water rewarded my efforts, and it was very
evident that what the old black fellow Wynbring Tommy, had said, about its being waterless was only too true. After
wasting several hours in a fruitless search for water, we left the wretched mount, and steered away for the ridges I
had seen from its summit. They appeared to be about forty-five miles away. As it was so late in the day when we left
the mountain, we got only seven miles from it when darkness again overtook us, and we had to encamp.

On the following day, the old horse Jimmy was riding completely gave in from the heat and thirst and fearful nature
of the country we were traversing, having come only sixty-five miles from Wynbring. We could neither lead, ride, nor
drive him any farther. We had given each horse some water from the supply the camels carried, when we reached the
mountain, and likewise some on the previous night, as the heavy sandhills had so exhausted them, this horse having
received more than the others. Now he lay down and stretched out his limbs in the agony of thirst and exhaustion. I was
loth to shoot the poor old creature, and I also did not like the idea of leaving him to die slowly of thirst; but I
thought perhaps if I left him, he might recover sufficiently to travel at night at his own pace, and thus return to
Wynbring, although I also knew from former sad experience in Gibson's Desert, that, like Badger and Darkie, it was more
than probable he could never escape. His saddle was hung in the fork of a sandal-wood-tree, not the sandal-wood of
commerce, and leaving him stretched upon the burning sand, we moved away. Of course he was never seen or heard of
after.

That night we encamped only a few miles from the ridges, at a place where there was a little dry grass, and where
both camels and horses were let go in hobbles. Long before daylight on the following morning, old Jimmy and I were
tracking the camels by torchlight, the horse-bells indicating that those animals were not far off; the camel-bells had
gone out of hearing early in the night. Old Jimmy was a splendid tracker; indeed, no human being in the world but an
Australian aboriginal, and that a half or wholly wild one, could track a camel on some surfaces, for where there is any
clayey soil, the creature leaves no more mark on the ground than an ant — black children often amuse themselves by
tracking ants — and to follow such marks as they do leave, by firelight, was marvellous. Occasionally they would leave
some marks that no one could mistake, where they passed over sandy ground; but for many hundreds beyond, it would
appear as though they must have flown over the ground and had never put their feet to the earth at all. By the time
daylight appeared, old Jimmy had tracked them about three miles; then he went off, apparently quite regardless of any
tracks at all, walking at such a pace, that I could only keep up with him by occasionally running. We came upon the
camels at length at about six miles from the camp, amongst some dry clay-pans, and they were evidently looking for
water. The old cow, which was the only riding camel, was so poor and bony, it was too excruciating to ride her without
a saddle or a pad of some sort, which now we had not got, so we took it in turns to ride the bull, and he made many
attempts to shake us off; but as he had so much hair on his hump, we could cling on by that as we sat behind it. It was
necessary for whoever was walking to lead him by his nose-rope, or he would have bolted away and rubbed his encumbrance
off against a tree, or else rolled on it. In consequence of the camels having strayed so far, it was late in the day
when we again started, the two horses looking fearfully hollow and bad. The morning as usual was very hot. There not
being now a horse a piece to ride, and the water which one camel had carried having been drank by the animals, Peter
Nicholls rode the old cow again, both she and the bull being much more easy to manage and get along than when we
started from Youldeh. Our great difficulty was with the nose-ropes; the calf persisted in getting in front of its
mother and twisting her nose-rope round his neck, also in placing itself right in between the fore-legs of the bull.
This would make him stop, pull back and break his rope, or else the button would tear through the nose; this caused
detention a dozen times a day, and I was so annoyed with the young animal, I could scarcely keep from shooting it many
times. The young creature was most endearing now, when caught, and evidently suffered greatly from thirst.

We reached the ridges in seven miles from where we had camped, and had now come ninety miles from Wynbring. We could
find no water at these ridges, as there were no places that could hold it. Here we may be said to have entered on a
piece of open country, and as it was apparently a change for the better from the scrubs, I was very glad to see it,
especially as we hoped to obtain water on it. Our horses were now in a terrible state of thirst, for the heat was
great, and the region we had traversed was dreadfully severe, and though they had each been given some of the water we
brought with us, yet we could not afford anything like enough to satisfy them. From the top of the ridge a low mount or
hill bore 20° north of east; Mount Finke, behind us, bore 20° south of west. I pushed on now for the hill in advance,
as it was nearly on the route I desired to travel. The country being open, we made good progress, and though we could
not reach it that night, we were upon its summit early the next morning, it being about thirty miles from the ridges we
had left, a number of dry, salt, white lagoons intervening. This hill was as dry and waterless as the mount and ridges,
we had left behind us in the scrubs. Dry salt lagoons lay scattered about in nearly all directions, glittering with
their saline encrustations, as the sun's rays flashed upon them. To the southward two somewhat inviting isolated hills
were seen; in all other directions the horizon appeared gloomy in the extreme. We had now come 120 miles from water,
and the supply we had started with was almost exhausted; the country we were in could give us none, and we had but one,
of two courses to pursue, either to advance still further into this terrible region, or endeavour to retreat to
Wynbring. No doubt the camels could get back alive, but ourselves and the horses could never have recrossed the
frightful bed of rolling sand-mounds, that intervened between us and the water we had left. My poor old black companion
was aghast at such a region, and also at what he considered my utter folly in penetrating into it at all. Peter
Nicholls, I was glad to find, was in good spirits, and gradually changing his opinions with regard to the powers and
value of the camels. They had received no water themselves, though they had laboured over the hideous sandhills, laden
with the priceless fluid for the benefit of the horses, and it was quite evident the latter could not much longer live,
in such a desert, whilst the former were now far more docile and obedient to us than when we started. Whenever the
horses were given any water, we had to tie the camels up at some distance. The expression in these animals' eyes when
they saw the horses drinking was extraordinary; they seemed as though they were going to speak, and had they done so, I
know well they would have said, “You give those useless little pigmies the water that cannot save them, and you deny it
to us, who have carried it, and will yet be your only saviours in the end.” After we had fruitlessly searched here for
water, having wasted several hours, we left this wretched hill, and I continued steering upon the same course we had
come, namely, north 75° east, as that bearing would bring me to the north-western extremity of Lake Torrens, still
distant over 120 miles. It was very probable we should get no water, as none is known to exist where we should touch
upon its shores. Thus we were, after coming 120 miles from Wynbring, still nearly 200 miles from the Finniss Springs,
the nearest water that I knew. It was now a matter of life and death; could we reach the Finniss at all? We could
neither remain here, nor should we survive if we attempted to retreat; to advance was our only chance of escape from
the howling waste in which we were almost entombed; we therefore moved onwards, as fast and as far as we could. On the
following morning, before dawn, I had been lying wakefully listening for the different sounds of the bells on the
animals' necks, and got up to brighten up the camp fire with fresh wood, when the strange sound of the quacking of a
wild duck smote upon my ear. The blaze of firelight had evidently attracted the creature, which probably thought it was
the flashing of water, as it flew down close to my face, and almost precipitated itself into the flames; but
discovering its error, it wheeled away upon its unimpeded wings, and left me wondering why this denizen of the air and
water, should be sojourning around the waterless encampment of such hapless travellers as we. The appearance of such a
bird raised my hopes, and forced me to believe that we must be in the neighbourhood of some water, and that the coming
daylight would reveal to us the element which alone could save us and our unfortunate animals from death. But, alas!
how many human hopes and aspirations are continually doomed to perish unfulfilled; and were it not that “Hope springs
eternal in the human breast,” all faith, all energy, all life, and all success would be at an end, as then we should
know that most of our efforts are futile, whereas now we hope they may attain complete fruition. Yet, on the other
hand, we learn that the fruit of dreamy hoping is waking blank despair. We were again in a region of scrubs as bad and
as dense as those I hoped and thought, I had left behind me.

Leaving our waterless encampment, we continued our journey, a melancholy, thirsty, silent trio. At 150 miles from
Wynbring my poor horse Chester gave in, and could go no farther; for some miles I had walked, and we had the greatest
difficulty in forcing him along, but now he was completely exhausted and rolled upon the ground in the death agony of
thirst. It was useless to waste time over the unfortunate creature; it was quite impossible for him ever to rise again,
so in mercy I fired a revolver-bullet at his forehead, as he gasped spasmodically upon the desert sand: a shiver passed
through his frame, and we left him dead in the lonely spot.

We had now no object but to keep pushing on; our supply of water was all but gone, and we were in the last stage of
thirst and wretchedness. By the night of that day we had reached a place 168 miles from Wynbring, and in all that
distance not a drop of water had been found. We had one unfortunate horse left, the grey called Formby, and that poor
creature held out as long and on as little water as I am sure is possible in such a heated and horrid region. On the
following morning the poor beast came up to Nicholls and I, old Jimmy being after the camels which were close by, and
began to smell us, then stood gazing vacantly at the fire; a thought seemed to strike him that it was water, and he put
his mouth down into the flames. This idea seems to actuate all animals when in the last stage of thirst. We were
choking with thirst ourselves, but we agreed to sacrifice a small billyful of our remaining stock of water for this
unfortunate last victim to our enterprise. We gave him about two quarts, and bitterly we regretted it later, hoping he
might still be able to stagger on to where water might be found; but vain was the hope and vain the gift, for the
creature that had held up so long and so well, swallowed up the last little draught we gave, fell down and rolled and
shivered in agony, as Chester had done, and he died and was at rest. A singular thing about this horse was that his
eyes had sunk into his head until they were all but hidden. For my own part, in such a region and in such a predicament
as we were placed, I would not unwillingly have followed him into the future.

The celebrated Sir Thomas Mitchell, one of Australia's early explorers, in one of his journeys, after finding a
magnificent country watered by large rivers, and now the long-settled abodes of civilisation, mounted on a splendid
horse, bursts into an old cavalier song, a verse of which says:

“A steede, a steede of matchless speede,

A sworde of metal keane;

All else to noble mindes is drosse;

All else on earthe is meane.”

I don't know what he would have thought had he been in my case, with his matchless “steede” dead, and in the pangs
of thirst himself, his “sworde of metal keane” a useless encumbrance, 168 miles from the last water, and not knowing
where the next might be; he would have to admit that the wonderful beasts which now alone remained to us were by no
means to be accounted “meane,” for these patient and enduring creatures, which were still alive, had tasted no water
since leaving Wynbring, and, though the horses were dead and gone, stood up with undiminished powers — appearing to be
as well able now to continue on and traverse this wide-spread desert as when they left the last oasis behind. We had
nothing now to depend upon but our two “ships of the desert,” which we were only just beginning to understand. I had
been a firm believer in them from the first, and had many an argument with Nicholls about them; his opinion had now
entirely altered. At Youldeh he had called them ugly, useless, lazy brutes, that were not to be compared to horses for
a moment; but now that the horses were dead they seemed more agreeable and companionable than ever the horses had
been.

When Jimmy brought them to the camp they looked knowingly at the prostrate form of the dead horse; they kneeled down
close beside it and received their loads, now indeed light enough, and we went off again into the scrubs, riding and
walking by turns, our lives entirely depending on the camels; Jimmy had told us they were calmly feeding upon some of
the trees and bushes in the neighbourhood when he got them. That they felt the pangs of thirst there can be no doubt —
and what animal can suffer thirst like a camel? — as whenever they were brought to the camp they endeavoured to fumble
about the empty water-bags, tin pannikins, and any other vessel that ever had contained water.

The days of toil, the nights of agony and feverish unrest, that I spent upon this journey I can never forget. After
struggling through the dense scrubs all day we were compelled perforce to remain in them all night. It was seldom now
we spoke to one another, we were too thirsty and worn with lassitude to converse, and my reflections the night after
the last horse died, when we had come nearly 200 miles without water, of a necessity assumed a gloomy tinge, although I
am the least gloomy-minded of the human race, for we know that the tone of the mind is in a great measure sympathetic
with the physical condition of the body. If the body is weak from exhaustion and fatigue, the brain and mind become
dull and sad, and the thoughts of a wanderer in such a desolate region as this, weary with a march in heat and thirst
from daylight until dark, who at last sinks upon the heated ground to watch and wait until the blazing sunlight of
another day, perhaps, may bring him to some place of rest, cannot be otherwise than of a mournful kind. The mind is
forced back upon itself, and becomes filled with an endless chain of thoughts which wander through the vastness of the
star-bespangled spheres; for here, the only things to see, the only things to love, and upon which the eye may gaze,
and from which the beating heart may gather some feelings of repose, are the glittering bands of brilliant stars
shining in the azure vault of heaven. From my heated couch of sandy earth I gazed helplessly but rapturously upon them,
wondering at the enormity of occupied and unoccupied space, revolving thoughts of past, present, and future
existencies, and of how all that is earthly fadeth away. But can that be the case with our world itself, with the sun
from which it obtains its light and life, or with the starry splendours of the worlds beyond the sun? Will they, can
they, ever fade? They are not spiritual; celestial still we call them, but they are material all, in form and nature.
We are both; yet we must fade and they remain. How is the understanding to decide which of the two holds the main
spring and thread of life? Certainly we know that the body decays, and even the paths of glory lead but to the grave;
but we also know that the mind becomes enfeebled with the body, that the aged become almost idiotic in their second
childhood; and if the body is to rise again, how is poor humanity to distinguish the germ of immortality? Philosophies
and speculations upon the future have been subjects of the deepest thought for the highest minds of every generation of
mankind; and although creeds have risen and sunk, and old religions and philosophies have passed away, the dubious
minds of mortal men still hang and harp upon the theme of what can be the Great Beyond. The various creeds, of the many
different nations of the earth induce them to believe in as many differing notions of heaven, but all and each appear
agreed upon the point that up into the stars alone their hoped-for heaven is to be found; and if all do not, in this
agree, still there are some aspiring minds high soaring above sublunary things, above the petty disputes of differing
creeds, and the vague promises they hold out to their votaries, who behold, in the firmament above, mighty and
mysterious objects for veneration and love.

These are the gorgeous constellations set thick with starry gems, the revolving orbs of densely crowded spheres, the
systems beyond systems, clusters beyond clusters, and universes beyond universes, all brilliantly glittering with
various coloured light, all wheeling and swaying, floating and circling round some distant, unknown, motive,
centre-point, in the pauseless measures of a perpetual dance of joy, keeping time and tune with most ecstatic harmony,
and producing upon the enthralled mind the not imaginary music of the spheres.

Then comes the burning wish to know how come these mighty mysterious and material things about. We are led to
suppose as our own minds and bodies progressively improve from a state of infancy to a certain-point, so it is with all
things we see in nature; but the method of the original production of life and matter is beyond the powers of man to
discover. Therefore, we look forward with anxiety and suspense, hope, love, and fear to a future time, having passed
through the portals of the valley of death, from this existence, we shall enjoy life after life, in new body, after new
body, passing through new sphere, after new sphere, arriving nearer and nearer to the fountain-head of all perfection,
the divinely great Almighty source of light and life, of hope and love.

These were some of my reflections throughout that weary night; the stars that in their constellations had occupied
the zenith, now have passed the horizon's verge; other and fresh glittering bands now occupy their former places — at
last the dawn begins to glimmer in the east, and just as I could have fallen into the trance of sleep, it was time for
the race for life, again to wander on, so soon as our animals could be found.

This was the eighth day of continued travel from Wynbring; our water was now all gone, and we were yet more than 100
miles from the Finniss Springs. I had been compelled to enforce a most rigid and inadequate economy with our water
during our whole march; when we left the camp where the last horse died very little over three pints remained; we were
all very bad, old Jimmy was nearly dead. At about four o'clock in the afternoon we came to a place where there was a
considerable fall into a hollow, here was some bare clay — in fact it was an enormous clay-pan, or miniature lake-bed;
the surface was perfectly dry, but in a small drain or channel, down which water could descend in times of rain, by the
blessing of Providence I found a supply of yellow water. Nicholls had previously got strangely excited — in fact the
poor fellow was light-headed from thirst, and at one place where there was no water he threw up his hat and yelled out
“Water, water!” he walking a little in advance; we had really passed the spot where the water was, but when Nicholls
gave the false information I jumped down off my camel and ran up to him, only to be grievously disappointed; but as I
went along I caught sight of a whitish light through the mulga trees partially behind me, and without saying a word for
fear of fresh disappointment, I walked towards what I had seen; Nicholls and Jimmy, who both seemed dazed, went on with
the camels.

What I had seen, was a small sheet of very white water, and I could not resist the temptation to drink before I went
after them. By the time I had drank they had gone on several hundred yards; when I called to them and flung up my hat,
they were so stupid with thirst, and disappointment, that they never moved towards me, but stood staring until I took
the camels' nose-rope in my hand, and, pointing to my knees, which were covered with yellow mud, simply said “water”;
then, when I led the camels to the place, down these poor fellows went on their knees, in the mud and water, and drank,
and drank, and I again knelt down and drank, and drank. Oh, dear reader, if you have never suffered thirst you can form
no conception what agony it is. But talk about drinking, I couldn't have believed that even thirsty camels could have
swallowed such enormous quantities of fluid.

It was delightful to watch the poor creatures visibly swelling before our eyes. I am sure the big bull Mustara must
have taken down fifty gallons of water, for even after the first drink, when we took their saddles off at the camp,
they all three went back to the water and kept drinking for nearly an hour.

We had made an average travelling of twenty-eight miles a day from Wynbring, until this eighth day, when we came to
the water in twenty-four miles, thus making it 220 miles in all. I could not sufficiently admire and praise the
wonderful powers of these extraordinary, and to me entirely new animals. During the time we had been travelling the
weather had been very hot and oppressive, the thermometer usually rising to 104° in the shade when we rested for an
hour in the middle of the day, but that was not the hottest time, from 2.40 to 3 p.m. being the culminating period. The
country we had traversed was a most frightful desert, yet day after day our noble camels kept moving slowly but surely
on, with undiminished powers, having carried water for their unfortunate companions the horses, and seeing them drop
one by one exhausted and dying of thirst; still they marched contentedly on, carrying us by turns, and all the
remaining gear of the dead horses, and finally brought us to water at last. We had yet over eighty miles to travel to
reach the Finniss, and had we not found water I am sure the three human beings of the party could never have got there.
The walking in turns over this dreadful region made us suffer all the more, and it was dangerous at any time to allow
old Jimmy to put his baking lips to a water-bag, for he could have drank a couple of gallons at any time with the
greatest ease. For some miles before we found the water the country had become of much better quality, the sandhills
being lower and well grassed, with clay flats between. We also passed a number with pine-trees growing on them. Rains
had evidently visited this region, as before I found the water I noticed that many of the deeper clay channels were
only recently dry; when I say deeper, I mean from one to two feet, the usual depth of a clay-pan channel being about as
many inches. The grass and herbage round the channel where I found the water were beautifully green.

Our course from the last hill had been about north 75° east; the weather, which had been exceedingly oppressive for
so many weeks, now culminated in a thunderstorm of dust, or rather sand and wind, while dark nimbus clouds completely
eclipsed the sun, and reduced the temperature to an agreeable and bearable state. No rain fell, but from this change
the heats of summer departed, though the change did not occur until after we had found the water; now all our good
things came together, namely, an escape from death by thirst, a watered and better travelling country, and cooler
weather. Here we very naturally took a day to recruit. Old Jimmy was always very anxious to know how the compass was
working, as I had always told him the compass would bring us to water, that it knew every country and every water, and
as it did bring us to water, he thought what I said about it must be true. I also told him it would find some more
water for us to-morrow. We were always great friends, but now I was so advanced in his favour that he promised to give
me his daughter Mary for a wife when I took him back to Fowler's Bay. Mary was a very pretty little girl. But “I to wed
with Coromantees? Thoughts like these would drive me mad. And yet I hold some (young) barbarians higher than the
Christian cad.” After our day's rest we again proceeded on our journey, with all our water vessels replenished, and of
course now found several other places on our route where rain-water was lying, and it seemed like being translated to a
brighter sphere, to be able to indulge in as much water-drinking as we pleased.

The Hermit Hill and Finniss Springs.

At one place where we encamped there was a cane grass flat, over a mile long, fifty to a hundred yards wide, and
having about four feet of water in it, which was covered with water-fowl; amongst these a number of black swans were
gracefully disporting themselves. Peter Nicholls made frantic efforts to shoot a swan and some ducks, but he only
brought one wretchedly small teal into the camp. We continued on our former course until we touched upon and rounded
the north-western extremity of Lake Torrens. I then changed my course for the Hermit Hill, at the foot of which the
Finniss Springs and Sir Thomas Elder's cattle station lies. Our course was now nearly north. On the evening of the
third day after leaving the water that had saved us, we fell in with two black fellows and their lubras or wives,
shepherding two flocks of Mr. Angas's sheep belonging to his Stuart's Creek station. As they were at a water, we
encamped with them. Their lubras were young and pretty; the men were very hospitable to us, and gave us some mutton,
for which we gave them tobacco and matches; for their kindness I gave the pretty lubras some tea and sugar. Our old
Jimmy went up to them and shook hands, and they became great friends. These blacks could not comprehend where we could
possibly have come from, Fowler's Bay being an unknown quantity to them. We had still a good day's stage before us to
reach the Finniss, but at dusk we arrived, and were very kindly received and entertained by Mr. Coulthard, who was in
charge. His father had been an unfortunate explorer, who lost his life by thirst, upon the western shores of the Lake
Torrens I have mentioned, his tin pannikin or pint pot was afterwards found with his name and the date of the last day
he lived, scratched upon it. Many an unrecorded grave, many a high and noble mind, many a gallant victim to temerity
and thirst, to murder by relentless native tribes, or sad mischance, is hidden in the wilds of Australia, and not only
in the wilds, but in places also less remote, where the whistle of the shepherd and the bark of his dog, the crack of
the stockman's whip, or the gay or grumbling voice of the teamster may now be heard, some unfortunate wanderer may have
died. As the poet says:—

“Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid,

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,

Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre.”

If it is with a thought of pity, if it is with a sigh of lament, that we ponder over the fate of the lost, over the
deaths in the long catalogue of the victims to the Australian bush, from Cunningham (lost with Mitchell) and
Leichhardt, Kennedy and Gilbert, Burke, Wiils, Gray, Poole, Curlewis and Conn, down to Coulthard, Panter, and Gibson,
it must be remembered that they died in a noble cause, and they sleep in honourable graves. Nor must it be forgotten
that they who return from confronting the dangers by which these others fell, have suffered enough to make them often
wish that they, too, could escape through the grave from the horrors surrounding them. I have often been in such
predicaments that I have longed for death, but having as yet returned alive, from deserts and their thirst, from
hostile native tribes and deadly spears, and feeling still “the wild pulsation which in manhood's dawn I knew, when my
days were all before me, and my years were twenty-two,”— as long as there are new regions to explore, the burning charm
of seeking something new, will still possess me; and I am also actuated to aspire and endeavour if I cannot make my
life sublime, at least to leave behind me some “everlasting footprints on the sands of time.”

At the Finniss Springs I met young Alec Ross, the son of another explorer, who was going to join my party for the
new expedition to Perth. My destination was now Beltana, 140 miles from hence. I got a couple of horses for Nicholls
and myself from Mr. Coulthard, Jimmy being stuck up on the top of the old riding cow camel, who could travel splendidly
on a road. When I arrived at Beltana I had travelled 700 miles from Fowler's Bay.

Book 4.

Map 5
Fourth Expedition, 1875.

Chapter 4.1. From 6th May to 27th July, 1875.

Fourth expedition. The members. Departure. Squabbles. Port Augusta. Coogee Mahomet. Mr. Roberts and
Tommy. Westward ho!. The equipment. Dinner and a sheep. The country. A cattle ranch. Stony plateau. The Elizabeth. Mr.
Moseley. Salt lakes. Coondambo. Curdling tea. An indented hill. A black boy's argument. Pale-green-foliaged tree. A
lost officer. Camels poisoned. Mount Finke in the winter. Wynbring. A new route. A good Mussulman. Depart from
Wynbring. New places. Antediluvian cisterns. Still westwards. Lake Bring. Rain and a bath. A line cut in the scrubs.
High sandhills. Return to Youldeh. Waking dreams. In depot. Fowler's Bay once more. The officers explore to the north.
Jimmy and Tommy. Jimmy's bereavement. At the bay. Richard Dorey. Return to Youldeh. Tommy's father. The officer's
report Northwards. Remarks.

Sir Thomas Elder was desirous that the new expedition for Perth, for which camels were to be the only animals taken,
should start from Beltana by the 1st of May. I was detained a few days beyond that time, but was enabled to leave on
Thursday, May the 6th. The members of the party were six in number, namely myself, Mr. William Henry Tietkens, who had
been with me as second on my last expedition with horses — he had been secured from Melbourne by Sir Thomas Elder, and
was again going as second; Mr. Jess Young, a young friend of Sir Thomas's lately arrived from England; Alexander Ross,
mentioned previously; Peter Nicholls, who had just come with me from Fowler's Bay, and who now came as cook; and Saleh,
the Afghan camel-driver as they like to be called. I also took for a short distance, until Alec Ross overtook me,
another Afghan called Coogee Mahomet, and the old guide Jimmy, who was to return to the bosom of his family so soon as
we arrived anywhere sufficiently near the neighbourhood of his country. Poor old Jimmy had been ill at Beltana, and
suffered greatly from colds and influenza. The Beltana blacks did not treat him so well as he expected, and some of
them threatened to kill him for poking his nose into their country, consequently he did not like the place at all, and
was mighty glad to be taken away. Thus, as I have said, on the 6th of May, 1875, the caravan departed from Beltana, but
we did not immediately leave civilisation or the settled districts, as I had to travel 150 miles down the country
nearly south, to Port Augusta at the head of Spencer's Gulf, where I intended to take in my stores, and loading for the
inland voyage, as most of my equipment was forwarded by Sir Thomas from Adelaide to that port.

Nothing very particular occurred on the road down, except some continual squabbles between myself, and Saleh and
Coogee, on account of the extraordinary and absurd manner in which these two men wanted to load and work the camels. In
the first place, we had several young camels or colts in the mob, some of these were bulls and others bullocks. The
Afghans have a way when travelling of bringing the camels up to the camp and making them lie down by their loads all
night, whether they have had time to fill themselves or not. This system was so revolting to my notions of fair play
that I determined to alter it at once.

Another thing that annoyed me was their absurd and stupid custom of hobbling, and unhobbling, while the camels were
lying down. This may be necessary for the first few days after the creatures are handled, but if they are never
accustomed to have their legs and feet touched while they are standing up, of course they may paw, or strike and kick
like a young horse; and if a camel is a striker, he is rather an awkward kind of a brute, but that is only the case
with one in a thousand. The Afghans not only persist in hobbling and unhobbling while the camels are lying down, but
never think of taking the hobbles entirely off at all, as they unfasten the hobble from one leg and put both on the
other, so that the poor brutes always have to carry them on one leg when they are travelling. I quickly put a stop to
this, but Coogee Mahomet exclaimed, “Oh, master! you mustn't take off a hobble, camel he keek, he keek, you mustn't.”
To which I replied, “Let him kick, and I hope he will kick you to death first, so that there will be one Afghan less in
the world, but every hobble shall come off every camel every day.” This Coogee was a most amusing though lazy, indolent
beggar. He never ceased to brag of what he could make camels do; he wished to ingratiate himself with me in the hope I
would take him with me, but I had already determined to have only one of his countrymen. He said if he came with me he
could make the camels go 200, 300, 400 or 500 miles with heavy loads without water, by just talking to them in his
language. He used to say, “You know, master, camel he know me, and my countrymen; camel he un'stand my language, he no
like Englishman, Englishman, he no un'stand riding camel, he no un'stand loading camel, only my countryman he un'stand
camel,” etc., etc.; but with all his bragging about the camels going so long without water, when we had been only four
days gone from Beltana, Saleh and Coogee had held a council and decided that I must be remonstrated with, in
consequence of my utter ignorance, stupidity, and reckless treatment of the camels. Accordingly on the fourth morning,
the weather having been delightfully cool and the camels not requiring any water, Coogee came to me and said, “Master,
when you water camel?” “What?” I said with unfeigned astonishment, “Water the camels? I never heard of such a thing,
they will get no water until they reach Port Augusta.” This completely upset Mr. Coogee, and he replied, “What! no
water till Port Gusta? camel he can't go, camel he always get water three, four time from Beltana to Port Gusta.”
“Well,” I said, “Coogee, they will get none now with me till they walk to Port Augusta for it.” Then Coogee said, “Ah!
Mr. Gile, you very smart master, you very clever man, only you don't know camel, you'll see you'll kill all Sir Thomas
Elder camel; you'll no get Perth, you and all you party, and all you camel die; you'll see, you'll see; you no give
poor camel water, camel he die, then where you be?” I was rather annoyed and said, “You stupid ass, it was only
yesterday you said you could take camels, 300, 400, 500 miles without water, with heavy loads, and now they have no
loads and we have only come about seventy miles, you say they will die if I don't give them water. How is it that all
your countrymen continually brag of what camels can do, and yet, when they have been only three days without water, you
begin to cry out that they want it?”

To this he only condescended to reply, “Ah! ah! you very clever, you'll see.” Of course the camels went to the port
just as well without water as with it. Alec Ross overtook us on the road, and brought a special little riding-camel
(Reechy) for me. I got rid of Mr. Coogee before we arrived at the port. We remained a little over a week, as all the
loads had to be arranged and all the camels' pack-saddles required re-arranging. Saleh and another of his countryman
who happened to be there, worked hard at this, while the rest of the party arranged the loads.

While at Port Augusta, Mr. Charles Roberts, who had been with me, and with whom I left all the horses at Youldeh,
arrived, by the usual road and brought me a young black boy, Master Tommy Oldham, with whom I had travelled to Eucla
from Fowler's Bay with the three horses that had died on my journey to Beltana. He was very sorry to hear of the loss
of Chester and Formby, the latter having been his riding-horse. Old Jimmy was immensely delighted to meet one of his
own people in a strange place. Tommy was a great acquisition to the party, he was a very nice little chap, and soon
became a general favourite.

Everything being at length ready, the equipment of the expedition was most excellent and capable. Sir Thomas had
sent me from Adelaide several large pairs of leather bags, one to be slung on each side of a camel; all our minor,
breakable, and perishable articles were thus secure from wet or damp. In several of these large bags I had wooden boxes
at the bottom, so that all books, papers, instruments, glass, etc., were safe. At starting the loads were rather heavy,
the lightest-weighted camels carrying two bags of flour, cased in raw-hide covers, the two bags weighing about 450
pounds, and a large tarpaulin about 60 pounds on top, or a couple of empty casks or other gear, which did not require
to be placed inside the leather bags. The way the camels' loads are placed by the Afghan camel-men is different from,
and at first surprising to persons accustomed to, pack-horse loads. For instance, the two bags of flour are carried as
perpendicularly as possible. As a general rule, it struck me the way they arranged the loads was absurd, as the whole
weight comes down on the unfortunate animal's loins; they use neither bags nor trunks, but tie up almost every article
with pieces of rope.

My Afghan, Saleh, was horrified at the fearful innovations I made upon his method. I furnished the leather bags with
broad straps to sustain them, having large rings and buckles to pass them through and fasten in the ordinary way of
buckle and strap; this had the effect of making the loads in the bags and trunks lie as horizontally as possible along
the sides of the pads of the pack-saddles. Saleh still wanted to encumber them with ropes, so that they could not be
opened without untying about a thousand knots. I would not permit such a violation of my ideas, and told him the loads
should be carried as they stood upon the ground; his argument always was, a la Coogee Mahomet, “Camel he can't carry
them that way,” to which I invariably replied, “Camel he must and camel he shall,” and the consequence was that camel
he did.

When we left Port Augusta, I had fifteen pack- or baggage-camels and seven riding ones. The two blacks, Jimmy and
Tommy, rode on one animal, while the others had a riding-camel each. The weight of the loads of the baggage-camels on
leaving, averaged 550 pounds all round. All the equipment and loads being in a proper state, and all the men and camels
belonging to the new expedition for Perth being ready, we left Port Augusta on the 23rd of May, 1875, but only
travelled about six miles, nearly west-north-west, to a place called Bowman's or the Chinaman's Dam, where there was
plenty of surface water, and good bushes for the camels; here we encamped for the night. A few ducks which incautiously
floated too near fell victims to our sportsmen. The following day we passed Mr. Bowman's station, had some dinner with
him, and got a fat sheep from one of his paddocks. On the 25th we encamped close to a station in the neighbourhood of
Euro Bluff, a hill that exists near the south-western extremity of Lake Torrens; we now travelled about
north-north-west up Lake Torrens, upon the opposite or western side to that on which we had lately travelled down, to
Port Augusta, as I wished to reach a watercourse (the Elizabeth), where I heard there was water. On the 28th of May we
encamped on the banks of Pernatty Creek, where we obtained a few wild ducks; the country here was very good, being open
salt-bush country. The next morning we met and passed a Government Survey party, under the command of Mr. Brooks, who
was engaged in a very extensive trigonometrical survey. In an hour or two after, we passed Mr. Bowman's Pernatty
cattle-station; there was no one at home but a dog, and the appearance of the camels seemed to strike him dumb. There
were some nice little sheets of water in the creek-bed, but scarcely large enough to be permanent. The country was now
a sort of stony plateau, having low, flat-topped, tent-shaped table-lands occurring at intervals all over it; it was
quite open, and no timber existed except upon the banks of the watercourses.

On the 30th of May we reached the Elizabeth; there was an old hut or two, but no people were now living there. The
water was at a very low ebb. We got a few ducks the first day we arrived. As some work had to be done to the
water-casks to enable us to carry them better, we remained here until the 2nd of June. The Elizabeth comes from the
table-lands near the shores of Lake Torrens to the north-eastward and falls into the northern end of Pernatty Lagoon.
Here we were almost as far north as when at Beltana, our latitude being 31° 10´ 30´´. The weather was now, and had been
for several weeks — indeed ever since the thunderstorm which occurred the day we came upon the clay-channel water —
very agreeable; the nights cold but dewless. When at Port Augusta, I heard that a Mr. Moseley was out somewhere to the
west of the Elizabeth, well-sinking, on a piece of country he had lately taken up, and that he was camped at or near
some rain-water. I was anxious to find out where he was; on the 31st of May I sent Alec Ross on the only track that
went west, to find if any water existed at a place I had heard of about twenty-five miles to the west, and towards
which the only road from here led. Alec had not been gone long, when he returned with Mr. Moseley, who happened to be
coming to the Elizabeth en route for Port Augusta. He camped with us that night. He informed me his men obtained water
at some clay-pans, called Coondambo, near the edge of Lake Gairdner, another large salt depression similar to Lake
Torrens, and that by following his horses' tracks they would lead, first to a well where he had just succeeded in
obtaining water at a depth of eighty-five feet, and thence, in seven miles farther, to the Coondambo clay-pans. I was
very glad to get this information, as even from Coondambo the only water to the west beyond it, that I knew of, was
Wynbring, at a distance of 160 or 170 miles.

Leaving the Elizabeth on June the 2nd, we went sixteen miles nearly west, to a small clay water-hole, where we
encamped. On the 3rd we travelled twenty-five miles nearly west, passing a deserted sheep-station belonging to Mr.
Litchfield about the middle of the day; the country was very poor, being open, bare, stony ground, with occasional low,
flat-topped table-lands, covered very sparsely with salsolaceous vegetation. We next arrived at the north-east corner
of Lake Hart, and proceeded nearly west along its northern shore; thence by the southern shores of Lakes Hanson and
Younghusband, all salt lakes, where one of the party must have been taken ill, for he suddenly broke out into a
doggerel rhyme, remarking that:—

“We went by Lake Hart, which is laid on the chart,

And by the Lake Younghusband too;

We next got a glance on, the little Lake Hanson,

And wished . . . ”

Goodness only knows what he wished, but the others conveyed to him their wish that he should discontinue such an
infliction on them.

On June the 6th we arrived at the place where Mr. Moseley had just finished his well; but his men had deserted the
spot and gone somewhere else, to put down another shaft to the north-eastwards. The well was between eighty and ninety
feet deep, the water whitish but good; here we encamped on a bushy sort of flat. The next morning, following some horse
tracks about south-west, they took us to the Coondambo clay-pans; the water was yellow and very thick, but there was
plenty of it for all our purposes, though I imagined it would not last Mr. Moseley and his men very long. Two or three
of his horses were running at this water; here were several large shallow, cane-grass clay flats which are also
occasionally filled with rain-water, they and Coondambo being situated close to the northern shore of Lake
Gairdner.

We left Coondambo on the 8th; on the 9th rain pretended to fall, and we were kept in camp during the day, as a
slight spitting fell, but was totally useless. On the 11th we encamped again near Lake Gairdner's shore; this was the
last we should see of it. Our latitude here was 31° 5´, and longitude 135° 30´ 10´´. We had seen no water since leaving
Coondambo, from whence we carried a quantity of the thick yellow fluid, which curdled disagreeably when made into tea,
the sugar having the chemical property of precipitating the sediment. We were again in a scrubby region, and had been
since leaving Coondambo. Our course was now nearly north-north-west for sixteen or seventeen miles, where we again
camped in scrubs. The following day we got to a low rocky hill, or rather several hills, enveloped in the scrub; there
were numerous small indentations upon the face of the rocks, and we got some water for the camels, though they had to
climb all over the rocks to get it, as there was seldom more than three or four gallons in any indent. We got some pure
water for ourselves, and were enabled to dispense with the yellow clayey fluid we had carried. From these hills we
travelled nearly west-north-west until, on the 15th, we fell in with my former tracks in April, when travelling from
Wynbring. Old Jimmy was quite pleased to find himself again in country which he knew something about. We could again
see the summit of Mount Finke. The only water I knew of in this wretched country being at Wynbring, I determined to
follow my old route. On the 16th we passed a place where we had formerly seen a small portion of bare rock, and now, in
consequence of the late sprinkling showers on the 9th and 10th, there were a few thimblefuls of water on it. This set
Jimmy into a state of excitement; he gesticulated and talked to Tommy in their language at a great rate, and Tommy
said, “Ah, if you found water here, when you come before, Chester and Formby wouldn't die.” “Well,” I said, “Tommy, I
don't see much water here to keep anything alive, even if it had been here then.” He only sapiently shook his head and
said, “But if you got plenty water then that's all right.” I found Tommy's arguments were exactly similar to those of
all other black boys I have known, exceedingly comical, but all to their own way of thinking.

Soon after this, I was riding in advance along the old track, when old Jimmy came running up behind my camel in a
most excited state, and said, “Hi, master, me find 'im, big one watta, plenty watta, mucka (not) pickaninny (little);
this way, watta go this way,” pointing to a place on our left. I waited until the caravan appeared through the scrub,
then old Jimmy led us to the spot he had found. There was a small area of bare rock, but it was too flat to hold any
quantity of water, though some of the fluid was shining on it; there was only enough for two or three camels, but I
decided to camp there nevertheless. What water there was, some of the camels licked up in no time, and went off to
feed. They seemed particularly partial to a low pale-green-foliaged tree with fringelike leaves, something like fennel
or asparagus. I have often gathered specimens of this in former journeys, generally in the most desert places. The
botanical name of this tree is Gyrostemon ramulosus. After hobbling out the camels, and sitting down to dinner, we
became aware of the absence of Mr. Jess Young, and I was rather anxious as to what had become of him, as a new arrival
from England adrift in these scrubs would be very liable to lose himself. However, I had not much fear for Mr. Young,
as, having been a sailor, and carrying a compass, he might be able to recover us. Immediately after our meal I was
going after him, but before it was finished he came, without his camel, and said he could not get her on, so had tied
her up to a tree and walked back, he having gone a long way on my old tracks. I sent Tommy and another riding-camel
with him, and in a couple of hours they returned with Mr. Young's animal.

The following morning, the 17th, much to my distress, one of our young bull camels was found to be poisoned, and
could not move. We made him sick with hot butter and gave him a strong clyster. Both operations produced the same
substance, namely, a quantity of the chewed and digested Gyrostemon; indeed, the animal apparently had nothing else in
his inside. He was a trifle better by night, but the following morning, my best bull, Mustara, that had brought me
through this region before, was poisoned, and couldn't move. I was now very sorry I had camped at this horrid place. We
dosed Mustara with butter as an emetic, and he also threw up nothing but the chewed Gyrostemon; the clyster produced
the same. It was evident that this plant has a very poisonous effect on the camels, and I was afraid some of them would
die. I was compelled to remain here another day. The first camel poisoned had got a little better, and I hoped the
others would escape; but as they all seemed to relish the poisonous plant so much until they felt the effects, and as
there were great quantities of it growing on the sandhills, I was in great anxiety during the whole day. On the 19th I
was glad to find no fresh cases, though the two camels that had suffered were very weak and afflicted with spasmodic
staggerings. We got them away, though they were scarcely able to carry their loads, which we lightened as much as
possible; anything was better than remaining here, as others might get affected.

On this day's march we passed the spot where I had put the horse's packsaddle in the sandal-wood-tree, and where my
first horse had given in. The saddle was now of no use, except that the two pads, being stuffed with horsehair, made
cushions for seats of camels' riding-saddles; these we took, but left the frame in the tree again. That night we camped
about five miles from Mount Finke, and I was glad to find that the two poisoned bulls had greatly recovered.

The following day, Mr. Young and I ascended Mount Finke, and put up a small pile of stones upon its highest point.
The weather, now cool and agreeable, was so different from that which I had previously experienced upon this dreadful
mount. Upon that visit the whole region was in an intense glow of heat, but now the summer heats were past; the
desolate region around was enjoying for a few weeks only, a slight respite from the usual fiery temperature of the
climate of this part of the world; but even now the nature of the country was so terrible and severe, the sandhills so
high, and the scrub so thick, that all the new members of the party expressed their astonishment at our ever having got
out of it alive. This mountain, as before stated, is forty-five miles from Wynbring. On the 22nd of June, just as we
got in sight of the rock, some heavy showers of rain descended; it came down so fast that the camels could drink the
water right at their feet, and they all got huddled up together in a mob, breaking their nose-ropes, some laying down
to enable them to drink easier, as loaded camels, having a breast-rope from the saddles, cannot put their heads to the
ground without hurting, and perhaps cutting, themselves. The rain ceased for a bit, and we made off to my old camp, and
got everything under canvas just as another heavy shower came down. Of course the rock-hole was full to overflowing,
and water was lying about in all directions. During the 23rd several smart showers fell, and we were confined to our
canvas habitations for nearly the whole day.

As this spot was so excellent for all kinds of animals, I gave my friends a couple of days' rest, in the first place
because they had had such poor feeding places for several nights before our arrival here, and I also wished, if
possible, to meet again with the Wynbring natives, and endeavour to find out from them whether any other waters existed
in this country. Old Jimmy, when he discovered, through Tommy Oldham, what I wanted the natives for, seemed surprised
and annoyed that I should attempt to get information from them while he was with me in his own territories. He said he
would take me to several waters between here and Youldeh, by a more northerly route than he had previously shown; he
said that water existed at several places which he enumerated on his fingers; their names were Taloreh, Edoldeh,
Cudyeh, Yanderby, Mobing, Bring, Poothraba, Pondoothy, and Youldeh. I was very glad to hear of all these places, and
hoped we should find they were situated in a more hospitable country than that through which we had formerly come. On
the 25th Mr. Young shot an emu, and we had fried steaks, which we all relished. Saleh being a good Mussulman, was only
just (if) in time to run up and cut the bird's throat before it died, otherwise his religious scruples would have
prevented him from eating any of it. All the meat he did eat, which was smoked beef, had been killed in the orthodox
Mohammedan style, either by himself or one of his co-religionists at Beltana. It was cured and carried on purpose. None
of the natives I had formerly seen, or any others, made their appearance, and the party were disappointed by not seeing
the charming young Polly, my description of whom had greatly raised their curiosity.

Wynbring Rock.

On the 26th of June we departed from the pretty little oasis of Wynbring, leaving its isolated and water-giving
rock, in the silence and solitude of its enveloping scrubs, abandoning it once again, to the occupation of primeval
man, a fertile little gem in a desolate waste, where the footsteps of the white man had never been seen until I came,
where the wild emu, and the wilder black man, continually return to its life-sustaining rock, where the aboriginal
inhabitants will again and again indulge in the wild revelries of the midnight corroborree dance, and where, in an
existence totally distinct from ours of civilisation, men and women live and love, and eat and drink, and sleep and
die. But the passions are the same in all phases of the life of the human family, the two great master motives, of love
and hunger, being the mainspring of all the actions of mankind.

Wynbring was now behind us, and Jimmy once more our guide, philosopher, and friend. He seemed much gratified at
again becoming an important member of the expedition, and he and Tommy, both upon the same riding-camel, led the way
for us, through the scrubs, in the direction of about west-north-west. In seven or eight miles we came to a little
opening in the scrub, where Jimmy showed us some bare flat rocks, wherein was a nearly circular hole brimful of water.
It was, however, nearly full also of the debris of ages, as a stick could be poked into mud or dirt for several feet
below the water, and it was impossible to say what depth it really was; but at the best it could not contain more than
200 or 300 gallons. This was Taloreh. Proceeding towards the next watering-place, which old Jimmy said was close up, in
a rather more northerly direction, we found it was getting late, as we had not left Wynbring until after midday; we
therefore had to encamp in the scrubs, having come about fifteen miles. It is next to impossible to make an old fool of
a black fellow understand the value of the economy of time. I wanted to come on to Edoldeh, and so did old Jimmy; but
he made out that Edoldeh was close to Taloreh, and every mile we went it was still close up, until it got so late I
ordered the party to camp, where there was little or nothing that the camels could eat. Of course it was useless to try
and make Jimmy understand that, having thousands of miles to travel with the camels, it was a great object to me to
endeavour to get them bushes or other food that they could eat, so as to keep them in condition to stand the long
journey that was before them. Camels, although exceedingly ravenous animals, will only eat what they like, and if they
can't get that, will lie down all night and starve, if they are too short-hobbled to allow them to wander, otherwise
they will ramble for miles. It was therefore annoying the next morning to find plenty of good bushes at Edoldeh, two
miles and a half from our wretched camp, and whither we might have come so easily the night before. To-day, however, I
determined to keep on until we actually did reach the next oasis; this Jimmy said was Cudyeh, and was of course still
close up. We travelled two and a half miles to Edoldeh, continued eighteen miles beyond it, and reached Cudyeh early in
the afternoon. This place was like most of the little oases in the desert; it was a very good place for a camp, one
singular feature about it being that it consisted of a flat bare rock of some area, upon which were several circular
and elliptical holes in various places. The rock lay in the lowest part of the open hollow, and whenever rain fell in
the neighbourhood, the water all ran down to it. In consequence of the recent rains, the whole area of rock was two
feet under water, and the extraordinary holes or wells that existed there looked like antediluvian cisterns. Getting a
long stick, and wading through the water to the mouths of these cisterns, we found that, like most other reservoirs in
a neglected native state, they were almost full of soil and debris, and the deepest had only about three feet of water
below the surface of the rock. Some of these holes might be very deep, or they might be found to be permanent wells if
cleaned out.

Next day we passed another little spot called Yanderby, with rock water, at ten miles; thence in three more we came
to Mobing, a much better place than any of the others: indeed I thought it superior to Wynbring. It lies about north
62° west from Wynbring and is fifty miles from it; the latitude of Mobing is 30° 10´ 30´´. At this place there was a
large, bare, rounded rock, very similar to Wynbring, except that no rock-holes to hold any surface water existed; what
was obtainable being in large native wells sunk at the foot of the rock, and brimful of water. I believe a good supply
might be obtained here. There were plenty of good bushes in the neighbourhood for the camels, and we had an excellent
camp at Mobing. As usual, this oasis consisted merely of an open space, lightly timbered with the mulga acacia amongst
the sandhills and the scrubs.

The day after, we were led by old Jimmy to a small salt lake-bed called Bring, which was dry; it lay about
south-west from Mobing. Round at the southern shore of this lake Jimmy showed us a small rock-hole, with a few dozen
gallons of water in it. In consequence of Mr. Young not being well, we encamped, the distance from Mobing being nine
miles. This also was a rather pretty camp, and excellent for the camels. Towards evening some light showers of rain
fell, and we had to erect our tarpaulins and tents, which we only do in times of rain. More showers fell the next day,
and we did not shift our quarters. A very shallow sheet of water now appeared upon the surface of the lake bed, but it
was quite salt. We made some little dams with clay, where the water ran into the lake, and saved enough water to
indulge in a sort of bath with the aid of buckets and waterproof sheeting. This was the last day of June.
Unfortunately, though Chairman of the Company, I was unable to declare a dividend for the half-year.

The 1st of July broke with a fine and beautiful morning, and we left Lake Bring none the worse for our compulsory
delay. I was anxious to reach Youldeh so soon as possible, as I had a great deal of work to do when I arrived there.
To-day we travelled nearly west seventeen or eighteen miles, and encamped without an oasis. On the 2nd we passed two
rocky hills, named respectively Pondoothy and Poothraba, Pondoothy was an indented rock-crowned hill in the scrubs.
Standing on its summit I descried an extraordinary line cut through the scrubs, which ran east by north, and was
probably intended by the natives for a true east line. The scrub timber was all cut away, and it looked like a survey
line. Upon asking old Jimmy what it was done for, and what it meant, he gave the usual reply, that Cockata black fellow
make 'em. It was somewhat similar to the path I had seen cleared at Pylebung in March last, and no doubt it is used for
a similar purpose. Leaving this hill and passing Poothraba, which is in sight of it, we continued our nearly west
course, and camped once more in the scrubs. The country was very difficult for the loaded camels, it rose into such
high ridges or hills of sand that we could only traverse it at a snail's pace. It was of course still covered with
scrubs, which consisted here, as all over this region, mostly of the Eucalyptus dumosa, or mallee-trees, of a very
stunted habit; occasionally some patches of black oaks as we call them, properly casuarinas, with clumps of mulga in
the hollows, here and there a stunted cypress pine, callitris, some prickly hakea bushes, and an occasional so called
native poplar, Codonocarpus cotinifolius, a brother or sister tree to the poisonous Gyrostemon. The native poplar is a
favourite and harmless food for camels, and as it is of the same family as the Gyrostemon, my friend Baron von Mueller
argues that I must be mistaken in the poison plant which affected the camels. He thinks it must be a plant of the
poisonous family of the Euphorbiaceae, and which certainly grows in these regions, and which I have collected specimens
of, but I cannot detect it.

We were now nearly in the latitude of Youldeh, and had only to push west to reach it; but the cow camel that Jimmy
and Tommy rode, being very near calving, had not travelled well for some days, and gave a good deal of trouble to find
her of a morning. I wished to get her to Youldeh before she calved, as I intended to form a depot there for a few
weeks, during which time I hoped the calf would become strong enough to travel. On the morning of the 5th, only about
half the mob were brought up to the camp, and, as Mr. Tietkens' and my riding camels were amongst them, we rode off to
Youldeh, seven or eight miles away, telling the others to come on as soon as they could. Mr. Young, Saleh, and Tommy
were away after the absent animals. On arriving I found Youldeh much the same as when I left it, only now the weather
was cool, and the red sandhills, that had formerly almost burnt the feet of men and animals, were slightly encrusted
with a light glittering mantle of hoar-frost in the shaded places, under the big leguminous bushes, for that morning
Herr Gabriel Daniel Fahrenheit had fallen to 28°. My old slabbed well had got filled up with sand, and it was evident
that many natives had visited the place since I left on the 24th of March, 103 days ago. We managed to water our
camels, as they lay down on the top of the well, and stretched their long necks down into it. We then quietly waited
till long past midday for the caravan to come up. We had nothing to do, and nothing to eat; we could not dig out the
well, for we had no shovel. At last Mr. Tietkens got alarmed at the non-arrival of the party, and he went back to the
camp, taking my riding-camel with him, as she would not remain quiet by herself. I remained there mighty hungry, and
made some black smoke to endeavour to attract any natives that might be in the neighbourhood. I have before remarked
that the natives can make different coloured smokes, of different form, and make them ascend in different ways, each
having a separate meaning: hurried alarm, and signal fires are made to throw up black and white smokes. No signals were
returned, and I sat upon a sandhill, like Patience on a monument, and thought of the line, “That sitting alone with my
conscience, is judgment sufficient for me.” I could not perceive any dust or sand of the approaching caravan; darkness
began to creep over this solitary place and its more solitary occupant. I thought I had better sleep, though I had no
bedding, to pass the time away till morning. I coiled myself up under a bush and fell into one of those extraordinary
waking dreams which occasionally descend upon imaginative mortals, when we know that we are alive, and yet we think we
are dead; when a confused jumble of ideas sets the mind “peering back into the vistas of the memories of yore,” and yet
also foreshadowing the images of future things upon the quivering curtains of the mental eye. At such a time the
imagination can revel only in the marvellous, the mysterious, and the mythical. The forms of those we love are
idealised and spiritualised into angelic shapes. The faces of those we have forgotten long, or else perchance have
lost, once more return, seraphic from the realms of light. The lovely forms and winning graces of children gone, the
witching eyes and alluring smiles of women we have loved, the beautiful countenances of beloved and admired youth, once
more we seem to see; the youthful hands we have clasped so often in love and friendship in our own, once more we seem
to press, unchanged by time, unchanged by fate, beckoning to us lovingly to follow them, still trying with loving
caress and youthful smiles to lead us to their shadowy world beyond. O youth, beautiful and undying, the sage's dream,
the poet's song, all that is loving and lovely, is centred still in thee! O lovely youth, with thine arrowy form, and
slender hands, thy pearly teeth, and saintly smile, thy pleading eyes and radiant hair; all, all must worship thee. And
if in waking hours and daily toil we cannot always greet thee, yet in our dreams you are our own. As the poet
says:—

“In dreams you come as things of light and lightness!

We hear your voice in still small accents tell,

Of realms of bliss and never-fading brightness,

Where those who loved on earth together dwell.”

Then, while lying asleep, engrossed by these mysterious influences and impressions, I thought I heard celestial
sounds upon mine ear; vibrating music's rapturous strain, as though an heavenly choir were near, dispensing melody and
pain. As though some angels swept the strings, of harps ethereal o'er me hung, and fann'd me, as with seraph's wings,
while thus the voices sweetly sung: “Be bold of heart, be strong of will, for unto thee by God is given, to roam the
desert paths of earth, and thence explore the fields of heaven. Be bold of heart, be strong of will, and naught on
earth shall lay thee low.” When suddenly I awoke, and found that the party with all the camels had arrived, my fire was
relit, and the whole place lately so silent was now in a bustle. I got up, and looked about me in astonishment, as I
could not at first remember where I was. But I soon discovered that the musical sounds I had heard were the
tintinabulations of my camel-bells, tinkling in the evening air, as they came closer and closer over the sandhills to
the place where I lay dreaming, and my senses returned at length to their ordinary groove.

We were safely landed at the Youldeh depot once more; and upon the whole I may say we had had an agreeable journey
from Port Augusta. Jimmy and Tommy's cow calved soon after arrival. I was glad to find she had delayed; now the calf
will be allowed to live, as she will be here for some little time. On the following morning I christened the calf
Youldeh, after her birthplace; she was not much bigger than a cat. On the 6th, 7th, and 8th, we all remained in depot,
doing various kinds of work, re-digging and re-slabbing the well, making two large canvas troughs for the camels to
drink out of, making some covers and alterations to some water-beds I had for carrying water, and many other things. I
had some camels to deliver at Fowler's Bay, and some private business, necessary to be done before a magistrate, which
compelled me personally to return thither; otherwise I should have gone away to the north to endeavour to discover
another depot in that direction. But now I committed this piece of work to my two officers, Messrs. Tietkens and Young,
while Alec Ross and I went south to the Bay. Both parties started from Youldeh on the 9th. I took old Jimmy with me to
return him, with thanks, to his family. Tietkens and Young took Tommy with them, as that young gentleman had no desire
whatever to return or to leave me. Between ourselves, when I first got him in February, I had caused him to commit some
very serious breaches of aboriginal law, for he was then on probation and not allowed to come near women or the blacks'
camp. He was also compelled to wear a great chignon, which made him look more like a girl than a boy. This I cut off
and threw away, much to the horror of the elders of his tribe, who, if they could catch, would inflict condign
punishment upon him. When he and old Jimmy met at Port Augusta, and Jimmy saw him without his chignon and other emblems
of novice-hood, that old gentleman talked to him like a father; but Tommy, knowing he had me to throw the blame on,
quietly told the old man in plain English to go to blazes. The expression on old Jimmy's face at thus being flouted by
a black boy, was indescribable; he thought it his duty to persecute Tommy still farther, but now Tommy only laughed at
him and said I made him do it, so old Jimmy gave him up at last as a bad job. Poor old fellow, he was always talking
about his wife and children; I was to have Mary, and Peter Nicholls Jinny. Alec, Jimmy, and I reached the bay on the
14th, but at Colona, on the 12th, we heard there had been a sad epidemic amongst the natives since I left, and poor old
Jimmy had lost two of his children, both Mary and Jinny. When he heard this, the poor old fellow cried, and looked at
me, as much as to say if I had not taken him away he might have saved them. It was but poor consolation to tell him,
what he could not understand, that those whom the gods love die young. I suffered another loss, as a bright little
black boy called Fry, a great favourite of mine, with splendid eyes and teeth, whom I had intended to bring with me as
a companion for Tommy, was also dead. I parted from old Jimmy the best of friends, but he was like Rachael weeping for
her children, and would not be comforted. I gave him money and presents, and dresses for his wife, and anything he
asked for, but this was not very much.

Our stay at Fowler's Bay was not extended longer than I could help. Mr. Armstrong, the manager, made me a present of
a case of brandy, and as I wanted to take some stores to Youldeh, he allowed me to take back the camels I had brought
him, and sent a man of his — Richard Dorey — to accompany me to Youldeh, and there take delivery of them.

On the 17th we left the bay, and the spindrift and the spray of the Southern Ocean, with the glorious main expanding
to the skies. We stayed at Colona with Mr. Murray a couple of days, and finally left it on the 21st, arriving with
Dorey and his black boy at Youldeh on the 25th.

Tommy Oldham's father had also died of the epidemic at the bay. Richard Dorey's black boy broke the news to him very
gently, when Tommy came up to me and said, “Oh, Mr. Giles, my”— adjective [not] blooming —“old father is dead too.” I
said, “Is that how you talk of your poor old father, Tommy, now that he is dead?” To this he replied, much in the same
way as some civilised sons may often have done, “Well, I couldn't help it!”

I have stated that when I went south with Alec Ross to Fowler's Bay I despatched my two officers, Mr. Tietkens and
Mr. Young, with my black boy Tommy, to endeavour to discover a new depot to the north, at or as near to the 29th
parallel of latitude as possible. When I returned from the bay they had returned a day or two before, having discovered
at different places two native wells, a small native dam, and some clay-pans, each containing water. This was
exceedingly good news, and I wasted no time before I departed from Youldeh. I gave my letters to Richard Dorey, who had
accompanied me back from Fowler's Bay. I will give my readers a condensation of Mr. Tietkens's report of his journey
with Mr. Young and Tommy.

On leaving Youldeh, in latitude 30° 24´ 10´´ and longitude 131° 46´— they took four camels, three to ride and one to
carry water, rations, blankets, etc. — they went first to the small rock-hole I had visited with Mr. Murray and old
Jimmy, when here in the summer. This lay about north 74° west, was about fourteen miles distant, and called Paring.
Tommy followed our old horse-tracks, but on arrival found it dry. The following day they travelled north, and passed
through a country of heavy sandhills and thick scrubs, having occasional open patches with limestone cropping out, and
camped at twenty-four miles. Continuing their journey the next morning, they went over better and more open country,
and made twenty-four or -five miles of northing. Some more good country was seen the following day, but no water,
although they saw native tracks and native huts. The next day they sighted two small flat-topped hills and found a
native well in their neighbourhood; this, however, did not promise a very good supply of water. The views obtainable
from the little hills were not very inviting, as scrubs appeared to exist in nearly every direction. This spot was
eighty-two miles from Youldeh, and lay nearly north 10° west. They continued north for another twenty-five miles, to
latitude 28° 52´ and longitude about 131° 31´, when they turned to the south-west for eighteen miles, finding a small
native dam with some water in it; then, turning slightly to the north of west, they found some clay-pans with a little
more water. They now went forty-four miles nearly west from the little dam, and, although the country seemed improving,
they could discover no more water. From their farthest westerly point in latitude 28° 59´ they turned upon a bearing of
south 55° east direct for the native well found near the little flat-topped hills before mentioned. In their progress
upon this line they entered, at forty-five miles and straight before them, upon a small open flat space very well
grassed, and very pretty, and upon it they found another native well, and saw some natives, with whom they held a sort
of running conversation. There were several wells, all containing water. Tommy managed to elicit from the natives the
name of the place, which they said was Ooldabinna. This seemed a very fortunate discovery, as the first well found near
the flat tops was by no means a good one. Here they encamped, being highly pleased with their successful journey. They
had now found a new depot, ninety-two miles, lying north 20° west from Youldeh. From hence they made a straight line
back to the camp, where they awaited my return from the bay.

I was much pleased with their discovery, and on Tuesday, the 27th July, having nineteen camels and provisions for
eight months, and a perfect equipment for carrying water, we left Youldeh. Richard Dorey, with his camels and black
boy, went away to the south. My caravan departed in a long single string to the north, and Youldeh and the place
thereof knew us no more.

Chapter 4.2. From 27th July to 6th October, 1875.

Ooldabinna depot. Tietkens and Young go north. I go west. A salt expanse. Dense scrubs. Deposit two
casks of water. Silence and solitude. Native footmarks. A hollow. Fine vegetation. A native dam. Anxiety. A great
plain. A dry march. Return to the depot. Rain. My officers' report. Depart for the west. Method of travelling. Kill a
camel. Reach the dam. Death or victory. Leave the dam. The hazard of the die. Five days of scrubs. Enter a plain. A
terrible journey. Saleh prays for a rock-hole. A dry basin at 242 miles. Watering camels in the desert. Seventeen days
without water. Saved. Tommy finds a supply. The Great Victoria Desert. The Queen's Spring. Farther still west.

On leaving Youldeh I had the choice of first visiting the native well my two officers had found at the flat tops,
eighty-two miles, or the further one at Ooldabinna, which was ninety-two. I decided to go straight for the latter. The
weather was cool, and the camels could easily go that distance without water. Their loads were heavy, averaging now 550
pounds all round. The country all the way consisted first, of very high and heavy sandhills, with mallee scrubs and
thick spinifex, with occasional grassy flats between, but at one place we actually crossed a space of nearly ten miles
of open, good grassy limestone country. We travelled very slowly over this region. There was a little plant, something
like mignonette, which the camels were extremely fond of; we met it first on the grassy ground just mentioned, and when
we had travelled from fifteen to eighteen miles and found some of it we camped. It took us five days and a half to
reach Ooldabinna, and by the time we arrived there I had travelled 1010 miles from Beltana on all courses. I found
Ooldabinna to consist of a small, pretty, open space amongst the scrubs; it was just dotted over with mulga-trees, and
was no doubt a very favourite resort of the native owners.

On the flat there was a place where for untold ages the natives have obtained their water supplies. There were
several wells, but my experience immediately informed me that they were simply rockholes filled with soil from the
periodical rain-waters over the little flat, the holes lying in the lowest ground, and I perceived that the water
supply was very limited; fortunately, however, there was sufficient for our immediate requirements. The camels were not
apparently thirsty when we arrived, but drank more the following day; this completely emptied all the wells, and our
supply then depended upon the soakage, which was of such a small volume that I became greatly disenchanted with my new
home. There was plenty of the mignonette plant, and the camels did very well; I wanted water here only for a month, but
it seemed probable it would not last a week. We deepened all the wells, and were most anxious watchers of the fluid as
it slowly percolated through the soil into the bottom of each. After I had been here two days, and the water supply was
getting gradually but surely less, I naturally became most anxious to discover more, either in a west or northerly
direction; and I again sent my two officers, Messrs. Tietkens and Young, to the north, to endeavour to discover a
supply in that direction, while I determined to go myself to the west on a similar errand. I was desirous, as were
they, that my two officers should share the honour of completing a line of discovery from Youldeh, northwards to the
Everard and Musgrave Ranges, and thus connect those considerable geographical features with the coast-line at Fowler's
Bay; and I promised them if they were fortunate and discovered more water for a depot to the north, that they should
finish their line, whether I was successful to the west or not. This, ending at the Musgrave Ranges would form in
itself a very interesting expedition. Those ranges lay nearly 200 miles to the north. As the Musgrave Range is probably
the highest in South Australia and a continuous chain with the Everard Range, seventy or eighty miles this side of it,
I had every reason to expect that my officers would be successful in discovering a fresh depot up in a northerly
direction. Their present journey, however, was only to find a new place to which we might remove, as the water supply
might cease at any moment, as at each succeeding day it became so considerably less. Otherwise this was a most pleasant
little oasis, with such herbage for the camels that it enabled them to do with very little water, after their first
good skinful.

We arrived here on Sunday, the 1st of August, and both parties left again on the 4th. Mr. Tietkens and Mr. Young
took only their own riding and one baggage camel to carry water and other things; they had thirty gallons of water and
ten days' provisions, as I expected they would easily discover water within less than 100 miles, when they would
immediately return, as it might be necessary for them to remove the whole camp from this place. I trusted all this to
them, requesting them, however, to hold out here as long as possible, as, if I returned unsuccessful from the west, my
camels might be unable to go any farther.

I was sure that the region to the west was not likely to prove a Garden of Eden, and I thought it was not improbable
that I might have to go 200 miles before I found any water. If unsuccessful in that way I should have precisely the
same distance to come back again; therefore, with the probabilities of such a journey before me, I determined to carry
out two casks of water to ninety or a hundred miles, send some of the camels back from that point and push on with the
remainder. I took six excellent camels, three for riding and three for carrying loads — two carrying thirty gallons of
water each, and the third provisions, rugs, gear, etc. I took Saleh, my only Afghan camel-man — usually they are called
camel-drivers, but that is a misnomer, as all camels except riding ones must be led — and young Alec Ross; Saleh was to
return with the camels from the place at which I should plant the casks, and Alec and I were to go on. The northern
party left on the same day, leaving Peter Nicholls, my cook, and Tommy the black boy, to look after the camels and
camp.

Little Salt Lake.

I will first give an outline of my journey to the west. The country, except in the immediate neighbourhood of the
wells, was, as usual in this region, all sandhills and scrub, although at eighteen miles, steering west, I came upon
the shores of a large salt depression, or lake-bed, which had numerous sandhill islands scattered about it. It appeared
to extend to a considerable distance southerly. By digging we easily obtained a quantity of water, but it was all pure
brine and utterly useless. After this we met lake-bed after lake-bed, all in a region of dense scrubs and sandhills for
sixty miles, some were small, some large, though none of the size of the first one. At seventy-eight miles from
Ooldabinna, having come as near west as it is possible to steer in such a country on a camel — of course I had a
Gregory's compass — we had met no signs of water fit for man or animal to drink, though brine and bog existed in most
of the lake-beds. The scrubs were very thick, and were chiefly mallee, the Eucalyptus dumosa, of course attended by its
satellite spinifex. So dense indeed was the growth of the scrubs, that Alec Ross declared, figuratively speaking, “you
could not see your hand before you.” We could seldom get a view a hundred yards in extent, and we wandered on farther
and farther from the only place where we knew that water existed. At this distance, on the shores of a salt-lake, there
was really a very pretty scene, though in such a frightful desert. A high, red earthy bank fringed with feathery mulga
and bushes to the brink, overlooking the milk-white expanse of the lake, and all surrounded by a strip of open ground
with the scrubs standing sullenly back. The open ground looked green, but not with fertility, for it was mostly
composed of bushes of the dull green, salty samphire. It was the weird, hideous, and demoniacal beauty of absolute
sterility that reigned here. From this place I decided to send Saleh back with two camels, as this was the middle of
the fourth day. Saleh would have to camp by himself for at least two nights before he could reach the depot, and the
thought of such a thing almost drove him distracted; I do not suppose he had ever camped out by himself in his life
previously. He devoutly desired to continue on with us, but go he must, and go he did. We, however, carried the two
casks that one of his camels had brought until we encamped for the fourth night, being now ninety miles from
Ooldabinna.

After Saleh left us we passed only one more salt lake, and then the country became entirely be-decked with unbroken
scrub, while spinifex covered the whole ground. The scrubs consisted mostly of mallee, with patches of thick mulga,
casuarinas, sandal-wood, not the sweet-scented sandal-wood of commerce, which inhabits the coast country of Western
Australia, and quandong trees, another species of the sandal-wood family. Although this was in a cool time of the year
— namely, near the end of the winter — the heat in the day-time was considerable, as the thermometer usually stood as
high as 96° in the shade, it was necessary to completely shelter the casks from the sun; we therefore cut and fixed
over them a thick covering of boughs and leaves, which was quite impervious to the solar ray, and if nothing disturbed
them while we were absent, I had no fear of injury to the casks or of much loss from evaporation. No traces of any
human inhabitants were seen, nor were the usually ever-present, tracks of native game, or their canine enemy the wild
dingo, distinguishable upon the sands of this previously untrodden wilderness. The silence and the solitude of this
mighty waste were appalling to the mind, and I almost regretted that I had sworn to conquer it. The only sound the ear
could catch, as hour after hour we slowly glided on, was the passage of our noiseless treading and spongy-footed
“ships” as they forced their way through the live and dead timber of the hideous scrubs. Thus we wandered on, farther
from our camp, farther from our casks, and farther from everything we wished or required. A day and a half after Saleh
left us, at our sixth night's encampment, we had left Ooldabinna 140 miles behind. I did not urge the camels to perform
quick or extraordinary daily journeys, for upon the continuance of their powers and strength our own lives depended.
When the camels got good bushes at night, they would fill themselves well, then lie down for a sleep, and towards
morning chew their cud. When we found them contentedly doing so we knew they had had good food. I asked Alec one
morning, when he brought them to the camp, if he had found them feeding; he replied, “Oh, no, they were all lying down
chewing their kid.” Whenever the camels looked well after this we said, “Oh, they are all right, they've been
chewing their ‘kid.’”

No water had yet been discovered, nor had any place where it could lodge been seen, even if the latter rain itself
descended upon us, except indeed in the beds of the salt-lakes, where it would immediately have been converted into
brine. On the seventh day of our march we had accomplished fifteen miles, when our attention was drawn to a plot of
burnt spinifex, surrounded by the recent foot-prints of natives. This set us to scan the country in every direction
where any view could be obtained. Alec Ross climbed a tree, and by the aid of field-glasses discovered the existence of
a fall of country into a kind of hollow, with an apparently broken piece of open grassy ground some distance to the
south-west. I determined to go to this spot, whatever might be the result, and proceeded towards it; after travelling
five miles, and closely approaching it, I was disgusted to find that it was simply the bed of a salt-lake, but as we
saw numerous native foot-prints and the tracks of emus, wild dogs, and other creatures, both going to and coming from
it, we went on until we reached its lonely shore. There was an open space all round it, with here and there a few trees
belonging to the surrounding scrubs that had either advanced on to, or had not receded from the open ground. The bed of
the lake was white, salty-looking, and dry; There was, however, very fine herbage round the shores and on the open
ground. There was plenty of the little purple pea-vetch, the mignonette plant, and Clianthus Dampierii, or Sturt's
desert-pea, and we turned our four fine camels out to graze, or rather browse, upon whatever they chose to select,
while we looked about in search of the water we felt sure must exist here.

The day was warm for this time of year, the thermometer standing at 95° in the shade. But before we went exploring
for water we thought it well to have some dinner. The most inviting looking spot was at the opposite or southern end of
the lake, which was oval-shaped; we had first touched upon it at its northern end. Alec Ross walked over to inspect
that, and any other likely places, while I dug wells in the bed of the lake. The soil was reasonably good and moist,
and on tasting it I could discover no taint of salt, nor had the surface the same sparkling incrustation of saline
particles that I had noticed upon all the other lake-beds. At ten or eleven inches I reached the bedrock, and found the
soil rested upon a rotten kind of bluish-green slate, but no water in the numerous holes I dug rewarded me, so I gave
it up in despair and returned to the camp to await Alec's report of his wanderings. On the way I passed by some black
oak-trees near the margin, and saw where the natives had tapped the roots of most of them for water. This I took to be
a very poor sign of any other water existing here. I could see all round the lake, and if Alec was unsuccessful there
was no other place to search. Alec was a long time away, and it was already late when he returned, but on his arrival
he rejoiced me with the intelligence that, having fallen in with a lot of fresh native tracks, all trending round to
the spot that looked so well from this side, he had followed them, and they led him to a small native clay-dam on a
clay-pan containing a supply of yellow water. This information was, however, qualified by the remark that there was not
enough water there for the whole of our mob of camels, although there was plenty for our present number. We immediately
packed up and went over to our new-found treasure.

This spot is 156 miles straight from our last watering-place at Ooldabinna. I was very much pleased with our
discovery, though the quantity of water was very small, but having found some, we thought we might find more in the
neighbourhood. At that moment I believe if we had had all our camels here they could all have had a good drink, but the
evaporation being so terribly rapid in this country, by the time I could return to Ooldabinna and then get back here,
the water would be gone and the dam dry. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof” is, however, a maxim that
explorers must very often be contented to abide by. Our camels got as much water as they chose to drink; they were not
very big animals, but I am sure 150 gallons was consumed amongst the four. They were hobbled out in the excellent
herbage, which was better here than where we first outspanned them. There was splendid grass as well as herbage, but
camels seldom, if ever, touch it. The clianthus pea and the vetch pea they ate ravenously, and when they can get those
they require very little water.

No natives appeared to be now in the immediate neighbourhood. This was a very pretty and charming little oasis-camp.
We got a few bronze-winged pigeons that came by mistake to water that night. The following morning we found the camels
had decamped, in consequence of their having had long hobbles allowed them, as we did not suppose they would ramble
away from such splendid herbage and water. Alec went after them very early, but had not returned by midday. During his
absence I was extremely anxious, for, if he should be unable to track, and should return without them, our case would
be almost hopeless. If camels are determined to stampede and can get a good start, there is frequently no overtaking
them on foot. They are not like horses, which will return of their own accord to water. Camels know their own powers
and their own independence of man, and I believe that a camel, if not in subjection, might live for months without
water, provided it could get succulent food. How anxiously I listened as hour after hour I maundered about this spot
for the tinkling sound of the camels' bells! How often fancy will deceive even the strongest minds! Twenty times during
that morning I could have sworn I heard the bells, and yet they were miles out of earshot. When Alec and I and the
camels were all here together I thought this a very pretty place, but oh, how hideous did it appear while I was here
alone, with the harrowing thought of the camels being lost and Alec returning without them. Death itself in any terrors
clad would have been a more welcome sight to me then and there, than Alec Ross without the camels. But Alec Ross was a
right smart chance of a young bushman, and I knew that nothing would prevent him from getting the animals so long as
their hobbles held. If, however, they succeeded in breaking them, it would be good-bye for ever. As they can go in
their hobbles, unless short, if they have a mind to stampede, as fast as a man can walk in this region, and with a
whole night's start with loose legs, pursuit would be hopeless. But surely at last I hear the bells! Yes; but, strange
to say, I did not hear them until Alec and the camels actually appeared through the edge of scrub. Alec said they had
gone miles, and were still pushing on in single file when he got up to them.

Now that I had found this water I was undecided what to do. It would be gone before I could return to it, and where
I should find any more to the west it was impossible to say; it might be 100, it might be 200, it might even be 300
miles. God only knows where the waters are in such a region as this. I hesitated for the rest of the day — whether to
go still farther west in search of water, or to return at once and risk the bringing of the whole party here. Tietkens
and Young, I reflected, have found a new depot, and perhaps removed the whole party to it. Then, again, they might not,
but have had to retreat to Youldeh. Eventually I decided to go on a few miles more to the west, in order to see whether
the character of the country was in any way altered before I returned to the depot.

We went about forty miles beyond the dam; the only alteration in the country consisted of a return to the salt-lake
system that had ceased for so many miles prior to our reaching our little dam. At the furthest point we reached, 195
miles from the depot; it was upon the shore of another salt lake, no water of any kind was to be procured. The only
horizon to be seen was about fifteen miles away, and was simply the rim of an undulation in the dreary scrubs covered
with the usual timber — that is to say, a mixture of the Eucalyptus dumosa or mallee, casuarinas or black oaks, a few
Grevilleas, hakea bushes, with leguminous trees and shrubs, such as mulga, and a kind of harsh-, silver wattle, looking
bush. On the latter order of these trees and plants the camels find their sustenance. Two stunted specimens of the
native orange-tree or capparis were seen where I had left the two casks. From my furthest point west, in latitude 29°
15´ and longitude 128° 3´ 30´´, I returned to the dam and found that even during my short absence of only three and a
half days the diminution of the volume of water in it was amazing, and I was perfectly staggered at the decrease, which
was at the rate of more than an inch per day. The dimensions of this singular little dam were very small: the depth was
its most satisfactory feature. It was, as all native watering places are, funnel-shaped, and to the bottom of the
funnel I could poke a stick about three feet, but a good deal of that depth was mud; the surface was not more than
eight feet long, by three feet wide, its shape was elliptical; it was not full when we first saw it, having shrunk at
least three feet from its highest water-mark. I now decided to return by a new and more southerly route to the depot,
hoping to find some other waters on the way. At this dam we were 160 miles from Eucla Harbour, which I visited last
February with my black boy Tommy and the three horses lost in pushing from Wynbring to the Finniss. North from Eucla,
running inland, is a great plain. I now wished to determine how far north this plain actually extended. I was here in
scrubs to the north of it. The last night we camped at the dam was exceedingly cold, the thermometer falling to 26° on
the morning of the 16th of August, the day we left. I steered south-east, and we came out of the scrubs, which had been
thinning, on to the great plain, in forty-nine or fifty miles. Changing my course here to east, we skirted along the
edge of the plain for twenty-five miles. It was beautifully grassed, and had cotton and salt-bush on it: also some
little clover hollows, in which rainwater lodges after a fall, but I saw none of any great capacity, and none that held
any water. It was splendid country for the camels to travel over; no spinifex, no impediments for their feet, and no
timber. A bicycle could be ridden, I believe, over the whole extent of this plain, which must be 500 or 600 miles long
by nearly 200 miles broad, it being known as the Hampton plains in Western Australia, and ending, so to say, near
Youldeh. Having determined where the plain extends at this part of it, I now changed my course to east north-east for
106 miles, through the usual sandhill scrubs and spinifex region, until we reached the track of the caravan from
Youldeh, having been turned out of our straight course by a large salt lake, which most probably is the southern end of
the one we met first, at eighteen miles west from Ooldabinna. By the tracks I could see that the party had not
retreated to Youldeh, which was so far re-assuring. On the 22nd of August we camped on the main line of tracks, fifteen
miles from home, when, soon after we started, it became very cloudy, and threatened to rain. The weather for the last
six days has been very oppressive, the thermometer standing at 92 to 94°, every day when we outspanned, usually from
eleven to half-past twelve, the hottest time of the day not having then been reached. As we approached the depot, some
slight sprinklings of rain fell, and as we drew nearer and nearer, our anxiety to ascertain whether our comrades were
yet there increased; also whether our camels, which had now come 196 miles from the dam, could get any water, for we
had found none whatever on our return route. On mounting the last sandhill which shut out the view, we were pleased to
see the flutterings of the canvas habitations in the hollow below, and soon after we were welcomed by our friends.
Saleh had returned by himself all right, and I think much to his surprise had not been either killed, eaten, or lost in
the bush. I was indeed glad to find the party still there, as I had great doubts whether they could hold out until my
return. They were there, and that was about all, for the water in all the wells was barely sufficient to give our four
camels a drink; there remained only a bucket or two of slush rather than water in the whole camp. It appeared, however,
as though fortune were about to favour us, for the light droppings of rain continued, and before night we were
compelled to seek the shelter of our tents. I was indeed thankful to Heaven for paying even a part of so longstanding a
debt, although it owes me a good many showers yet; but being a patient creditor, I will wait. We were so anxious about
the water that we were continually stirring out of the tents to see how the wells looked, and whether any water had yet
ran into them, a slight trickling at length began to run into the best-catching of our wells, and although the rain did
not continue long or fall heavily, yet a sufficiency drained into the receptacle to enable us to fill up all our
water-holding vessels the next morning, and give a thorough good drink to all our camels. I will now give an account of
how my two officers fared on their journey in search of a depot to the north.

Their first point was to the little native dam they had seen prior to the discovery of this place, and there they
encamped the first night, ten miles from hence on a bearing of north 9° east. Leaving the dam, they went north for
twenty-five miles over high sandhills and through scrubs, when they saw some fresh native tracks, and found a small and
poor native well, in which there was only a bucketful or two of water. They continued their northern course for
twenty-five miles farther, when they reached a hollow with natives' foot-marks all over it, and some diamond sparrows,
Amadina of Gould. Again they were unsuccessful in all their searches for water. Going farther north for fifteen miles,
they observed some smoke to the north-east, and reached the place in six or seven miles. Here they found and surprised
a large family of natives, who had apparently only recently arrived. A wide and deep hollow or valley existed among
high sandhill country, timbered mostly with a eucalyptus, which is simply a gigantic species of mallee, but as it grows
singly, it resembles gum-trees. Having descended into this hollow, a mile and a half wide, they saw the natives, and
were in hopes of obtaining some information from them, but unfortunately the whole mob decamped, uttering loud and
prolonged cries. Following this valley still northwards they reached its head in about six miles, but could discover no
place where the natives obtained their supplies of water. At this point they were travelling over burnt scrubby
sandhill country still north, when the natives who had appeared so shy came running after them in a threatening manner,
howling at them, and annoying them in every possible way. These people, who had now arrayed themselves in their
war-paint, and had all their fighting weapons in hand, evidently meant mischief; but my officers managed to get away
from them without coming to a hostile encounter. They endeavoured to parley with the natives and stopped for that
purpose, but could gain no information whatever as to the waters in their territories. Four miles north were then
travelled, over burnt country, and having failed in discovering any places or even signs, otherwise than the presence
of black men, of places where water could be obtained, and being anxious about the state of the water supply at the
depot, as I had advised them not to remain too long away from this point, whose position is in latitude 27° 48´ and
longitude 131° 19´, they returned. The Musgrave Range, they said, was not more than 100 miles to the north of them, but
they had not sighted it. They were greatly disappointed at their want of success, and returned by a slightly different
route, searching in every likely-looking place for water, but finding none, though they are both of opinion that the
country is watered by native wells, and had they had sufficient time to have more thoroughly investigated it, they
would doubtless have been more successful. The Everard Range being about sixty miles south from the Musgrave chain, and
they not having sighted it, I can scarcely think they could have been within 100 miles of the Musgrave, as from high
sandhills that high feature should be visible at that distance.

When Alec Ross and I returned from the west the others had been back some days, and were most anxious to hear how we
had got on out west.

The usual anxiety at the camp was the question of water supply; I had found so little where I had been, and the
water here was failing rapidly every day. Had it not been for last night's rain, we should be in a great difficulty
this morning. Now, however, we had got our supply replenished by the light rain, and for the moment all was well; but
it did not follow that because it rained here it must also rain at the little dam 160 miles away. Yet I decided to take
the whole party to it, and as, by the blessing of Providence, we now had sufficient water for the purpose, to carry as
much as we possibly could, so that if no rain had fallen at the dam when we arrived there, we should give the camels
what water they carried and keep pushing on west, and trust to fate, or fortune, or chance, or Providence, or whatever
it might be, that would bring us to water beyond. On the 24th August, having filled up everything that could hold a
drop of water, we departed from this little isolated spot, having certainly 160 miles of desert without water to
traverse, and perhaps none to be found at the end. Now, having everything ready, and watered our camels, we folded our
tents like the Arabs, and as silently stole away. In consequence of having to carry so much water, our loads upon
leaving Ooldabinna were enormously heavy, and the weather became annoyingly hot just as we began our journey. The four
camels which Alec Ross and I had out with us looked wretched objects beside their more fortunate companions that had
been resting at Ooldabinna, and were now in excellent condition; our unfortunates, on the contrary, had been travelling
for seventeen days at the rate of twenty-three miles per day, with only one drink of water in the interval. These four
were certainly excellent animals. Alec rode my little riding cow Reechy. I had a splendid gelding, which I named the
Pearl Beyond all Price, though he was only called the Pearl. He was a beautiful white camel. Another cow I called the
Wild Gazelle, and we had a young bull that afterwards became Mr. Tietkens's riding camel. It is unnecessary to record
each day's proceedings through these wretched scrubs, as the record of “each dreary to-morrow but repeats the dull tale
of to-day.” But I may here remark that camels have a great advantage over horses in these dense wildernesses, for the
former are so tall that their loads are mostly raised into the less resisting upper branches of the low trees of which
these scrubs are usually composed, whereas the horses' loads being so much nearer the ground have to be dragged through
the stouter and stronger lower limbs of the trees. Again, camels travel in one long single file, and where the leading
camel forces his way the others all follow. It is of great importance to have some good leading camels. My arrangement
for traversing these scrubs was as follows:— Saleh on his riding gelding, the most lion-hearted creature in the whole
mob, although Saleh was always beating or swearing at him in Hindostanee, led the whole caravan, which was divided into
three separate lots; at every sixth there was a break, and one of the party rode ahead of the next six, and so on. The
method of leading was, when the scrubs permitted, the steersman would ride; if they were too thick for correct
steering, he would walk; then a man riding or leading a riding camel to guide Saleh, who led the baggage mob. Four of
us used to steer. I had taught Alec Ross, and we took an hour about, at a time. Immediately behind Saleh came three
bull camels loaded with casks of water, each cask holding twenty gallons. These used to crash and smash down and
through the branches, so that the passage was much clearer after them. All the rest of the equipment, including
water-beds, boxes, etc., was encased in huge leather bags, except one cow's load; this, with the bags of flour on two
other camels, was enveloped in green hide. The fortunate rider at the extreme end had a somewhat open groove to ride
in. This last place was the privilege of the steersman when his hour of agony was up. After the caravan had forced its
way through this forest primeval, there was generally left an open serpentine line about six feet above the ground,
through the trees, and when a person was on this line they could see that something unusual must have passed through.
On the ground was a narrower line about two feet wide, and sometimes as much as a foot deep, where one animal after
another had stepped. In my former journals I mentioned that the spinifex wounded the horses' feet, and disfigured their
coronets, it also used to take a good deal of hair off some of the horses' legs; but in the case of the camels,
although it did not seem to excoriate them, it took every hair off their legs up to three feet from the ground, and
their limbs turned black, and were as bright and shiny as a newly polished boot. The camels' hair was much finer than
that of the horses', but their skin was much thicker, and while the horses' legs were punctured and suppurating, the
camels' were all as hard as steel and bright as bayonets.

What breakfast we had was always taken very early, before it was light enough to track the camels; then, while some
of the party went after them, the others' duty was to have all the saddles and packs ready for instant loading. Our
shortest record of leaving a camp (On a piece of open ground.) was half an hour from the instant the first camel was
caught, but it usually took the best part of an hour before a clearance could be effected. Upon leaving Ooldabinna we
had our westerly tracks to follow; this made the road easier. At the ninety-mile place, where I left the two water
casks, we were glad to find them all safe, and in consequence of the shade we had put over them, there had been no loss
of water from evaporation. On the sixth night from Ooldabinna we were well on our way towards the little dam, having
come 120 miles. The heat had been very oppressive. At dusk of that day some clouds obscured the sky, and light rain
fell, continuing nearly all night. On the seventh day, the 30th of August, there was every appearance of wet setting
in. I was very thankful, for now I felt sure we should find more water in the little dam than when I left it. We
quietly ensconced ourselves under our tents in the midst of the scrubs, and might be said to have enjoyed a holiday as
a respite and repose, in contrast to our usual perpetual motion. The ground was far too porous to hold any surface
water, and had our camels wanted it never so much, it could only be caught upon some outspread tarpaulins; but what
with the descending moisture, the water we carried and the rain we caught, we could now give them as much as they liked
to drink, and I now felt sure of getting more when we arrived at the little dam. During the night of the 29th one of
our best cow-camels calved. Unfortunately the animal strained herself so severely in one of her hips, or other part of
her hind legs, that she could not rise from the ground. She seemed also paralysed with cold. Her little mite of a calf
had to be killed. We milked the mother as well as we could while she was lying down, and we fed and watered her — at
least we offered her food and water, but she was in too great pain to eat. Camel calves are, in proportion to their
mothers, the most diminutive but pretty little objects imaginable. I delayed here an additional day on the poor
creature's account, but all our efforts to raise her proved unsuccessful. I could not leave the poor dumb brute on the
ground to die by inches slowly, by famine, and alone, so I in mercy shot her just before we left the place, and left
her dead alongside the progeny that she had brought to life in such a wilderness, only at the expense of her own. She
had been Mr. Tietkens's hack, and one of our best riding camels. We had now little over forty miles to go to reach the
dam, and as all our water had been consumed, and the vessels were empty, the loads now were light enough. On the 3rd of
September we arrived, and were delighted to find that not only had the dam been replenished, but it was full to
overflowing. A little water was actually visible in the lake-bed alongside of it, at the southern end, but it was unfit
for drinking.

The little reservoir had now six feet of water in it; there was sufficient for all my expected requirements. The
camels could drink at their ease and pleasure. The herbage and grass was more green and luxuriant than ever, and to my
eyes it now appeared a far more pretty scene. There were the magenta-coloured vetch, the scarlet desert-pea, and
numerous other leguminous plants, bushes, and trees, of which the camels are so fond. Mr. Young informed me that he had
seen two or three natives from the spot at which we pitched our tents, but I saw none, and they never returned while we
were in occupation of their property. This would be considered a pretty spot anywhere, but coming suddenly on it from
the dull and sombre scrubs, the contrast makes it additionally striking. In the background to the south were some high
red sandhills, on which grew some scattered casuarina of the black oak kind, which is a different variety from, and not
so elegant or shady a tree as, the finer desert oak, which usually grows in more open regions. I have not as yet seen
any of them on this expedition. All round the lake is a green and open space with scrubs standing back, and the white
lake-bed in the centre. The little dam was situated on a piece of clay ground where rain-water from the foot of some of
the sandhills could run into the lake; and here the natives had made a clumsy and (ab)original attempt at storing the
water, having dug out the tank in the wrong place, at least not in the best position for catching the rain-water. I
felt sure there was to be a waterless track beyond, so I stayed at this agreeable place for a week, in order to recruit
the camels, and more particularly to enable another cow to calve. During this interval of repose we had continued
oppressive weather, the thermometer standing from 92 and 94 to 96° every afternoon, but the nights were agreeably cool,
if not cold. We had generally very cloudy mornings; the flies were particularly numerous and troublesome, and I became
convinced that any further travel to the west would have to be carried on under very unfavourable circumstances. This
little dam was situated in latitude 29° 19´ 4´´, and longitude 128° 38´ 16´´, showing that we had crossed the boundary
line between the two colonies of South and Western Australia, the 129th meridian. I therefore called this the Boundary
Dam. It must be recollected that we are and have been for 7 1/2° of longitude — that is to say, for 450 miles of
westing, and 130 miles of northing — occupying the intervening period between the 9th of June, to the 3rd of September,
entirely enveloped in dense scrubs, and I may say that very few if any explorers have ever before had such a region to
traverse. I had managed to penetrate this country up to the present point, and it was not to be wondered at if we all
ardently longed for a change. Even a bare, boundless expanse of desert sand would be welcomed as an alternative to the
dark and dreary scrubs that surrounded us. However, it appeared evident to me, as I had traversed nothing but scrubs
for hundreds of miles from the east, and had found no water of any size whatever in all the distance I had yet come,
that no waters really existed in this country, except an occasional native well or native dam, and those only at
considerable distances apart. Concluding this to be the case, and my object being that the expedition should reach the
city of Perth, I decided there was only one way to accomplish this — namely, to go thither, at any risk, and trust to
Providence for an occasional supply of water here and there in the intermediate distance. I desired to make for a hill
or mountain called Mount Churchman by Augustus Churchman Gregory in 1846. I had no written record of water existing
there, but my chart showed that Mount Churchman had been visited by two or three other travellers since that date, and
it was presumable that water did permanently exist there. The hill was, however, distant from this dam considerably
over 600 miles in a straight line, and too far away for it to be possible we could reach it unless we should discover
some new watering places between. I was able to carry a good supply of water in casks, water-beds and bags; and to
enable me to carry this I had done away with various articles, and made the loads as light as possible; but it was
merely lightening them of one commodity to load them with a corresponding weight of water. At the end of a week I was
tired of the listless life at the camp. The cow camel had not calved, and showed no greater disposition to do so now
than when we arrived, so I determined to delay no longer on her account. The animals had done remarkably well here, as
the feed was so excellent. The water that had been lying in the bed of the lake when we arrived had now dried up, and
the quantity taken by ourselves and the camels from the little dam was telling very considerably upon its store — a
plain intimation to us that it would soon become exhausted, and that for the sustenance of life more must be procured.
Where the next favoured spot would be found, who could tell? The last water we had met was over 150 miles away; the
next might be double that distance. Having considered all these matters, I informed my officers and men that I had
determined to push westward, without a thought of retreat, no matter what the result might be; that it was a matter of
life or death for us; we must push through or die in the scrubs. I added that if any more than one of the party desired
to retreat, I would provide them with rations and camels, when they could either return to Fowler's Bay by the way we
had come, or descend to Eucla Station on the coast, which lay south nearly 170 miles distant.

I represented that we were probably in the worst desert upon the face of the earth, but that fact should give us all
the more pleasure in conquering it. We were surrounded on all sides by dense scrubs, and the sooner we forced our way
out of them the better. It was of course a desperate thing to do, and I believe very few people would or could rush
madly into a totally unknown wilderness, where the nearest known water was 650 miles away. But I had sworn to go to
Perth or die in the attempt, and I inspired the whole of my party with my own enthusiasm. One and all declared that
they would live or die with me. The natives belonging to this place had never come near us, therefore we could get no
information concerning any other waters in this region. Owing to the difficulty of holding conversation with wild
tribes, it is highly probable that if we had met them we should have got no information of value from them. When wild
natives can be induced to approach and speak to the first travellers who trespass on their domains, they simply repeat,
as well as they can, every word and action of the whites; this becomes so annoying that it is better to be without
them. When they get to be more intimate and less nervous they also generally become more familiar, and want to see if
white people are white all over, and to satisfy their curiosity in many ways. This region evidently does not support a
very numerous tribe, and there is not much game in it. I have never visited any part of Australia so devoid of animal
life.

On the 10th of September everything was ready, and I departed, declaring that:—

“Though the scrubs may range around me,

My camel shall bear me on;

Though the desert may surround me,

It hath springs that shall be won.”

Mounting my little fairy camel Reechy, I “whispered to her westward, westward, and with speed she darted onward.”
The morning was cloudy and cool, and I anticipated a change from the quite sufficiently hot weather we had lately had,
although I did not expect rain. We had no notion of how far we might have to go, or how many days might elapse before
we came to any other water, but we left our friendly little dam in high hopes and excellent spirits, hoping to discover
not only water, but some more agreeable geographical features than we had as yet encountered. I had set my own and all
my companions' lives upon a cast, and will stand the hazard of the die, and I may add that each one displayed at
starting into the new unknown, the greatest desire and eagerness for our attempt. On leaving the depot I had determined
to travel on a course that would enable me to reach the 30th parallel of latitude at about its intersection with the
125th meridian of longitude; for I thought it probable the scrubs might terminate sooner in that direction than in one
more northerly. Our course was therefore on a bearing of south 76° west; this left the line of salt lakes Alec Ross and
I had formerly visited, and which lay west, on our right or northwards of us. Immediately after the start we entered
thick scrubs as usual; they were mostly composed of the black oak, casuarina, with mulga and sandal-wood, not of
commerce. We passed by the edge of two small salt depressions at six and nine miles; at ten miles we were overtaken by
a shower of rain, and at eleven miles, as it was still raining slightly, we encamped on the edge of another lake.
During the evening we saved sufficient water by means of our tarpaulins for all our own requirements. During the night
it also rained at intervals, and we collected a lot of water and put it into a large canvas trough used for watering
the camels when they cannot reach the water themselves. I carried two of these troughs, which held sufficient water for
them all when at a watered camp, but not immediately after a dry stage; then they required to be filled three or four
times. On the following morning, however, as we had but just left the depot, the camels would not drink, and as all our
vessels were full, the water in the trough had to be poured out upon the ground as a libation to the Fates. In
consequence of having to dry a number of things, we did not get away until past midday, and at eleven miles upon our
course, after passing two small salt lagoons, we came upon a much larger one, where there was good herbage. This we
took advantage of, and encamped there. Camels will not eat anything from which they cannot extract moisture, by which
process they are enabled to go so long without water. The recent rain had left some sheets of water in the lake-bed at
various places, but they were all as salt as brine — in fact brine itself.

The country we passed through to-day was entirely scrubs, except where the salt basins intervened, and nothing but
scrubs could be seen ahead, or indeed in any other direction. The latitude of the camp on this lake was 29° 24´ 8´´,
and it was twenty-two miles from the dam. We continued our march and proceeded still upon the same course, still under
our usual routine of steering. By the fifth night of our travels we had met no water or any places that could hold it,
and apparently we had left all the salt basins behind. Up to this point we had been continually in dense scrubs, but
here the country became a little more open; myal timber, acacia, generally took the places of the mallee and the
casuarinas; the spinifex disappeared, and real grass grew in its place. I was in hopes of finding water if we should
debouch upon a plain, or perhaps discover some ranges or hills which the scrubs might have hidden from us. On the sixth
day of our march we entered fairly on a plain, the country being very well grassed. It also had several kinds of
salsolaceous bushes upon it; these furnish excellent fodder plants for all herbivorous animals. Although the soil was
not very good, being sand mixed with clay, it was a very hard and good travelling country; the camels' feet left
scarcely any impression on it, and only by the flattened grass and crushed plants trodden to earth by our
heavy-weighing ships, could our trail now be followed. The plain appeared to extend a great distance all around us. A
solemn stillness pervaded the atmosphere; nobody spoke much above a whisper. Once we saw some wild turkey bustards, and
Mr. Young managed to wing one of them on the seventh day from the dam. On the seventh night the cow, for which we had
delayed there, calved, but her bull-calf had to be destroyed, as we could not delay for it on the march. The old cow
was in very good condition, went off her milk in a day or two, and continued on the journey as though nothing had
occurred. On the eighth we had cold fowl for breakfast, with a modicum of water. On the ninth and tenth days of our
march the plains continued, and I began to think we were more liable to die for want of water on them than in the dense
and hideous scrubs we had been so anxious to leave behind. Although the region now was all a plain, no views of any
extent could be obtained, as the country still rolled on in endless undulations at various distances apart, just as in
the scrubs. It was evident that the regions we were traversing were utterly waterless, and in all the distance we had
come in ten days, no spot had been found where water could lodge. It was totally uninhabited by either man or animal,
not a track of a single marsupial, emu, or wild dog was to be seen, and we seemed to have penetrated into a region
utterly unknown to man, and as utterly forsaken by God. We had now come 190 miles from water, and our prospects of
obtaining any appeared more and more hopeless. Vainly indeed it seemed that I might say — with the mariner on the ocean
—“Full many a green spot needs must be in this wide waste of misery, Or the traveller worn and wan never thus could
voyage on.” But where was the oasis for us? Where the bright region of rest? And now, when days had many of them passed
away, and no places had been met where water was, the party presented a sad and solemn procession, as though each and
all of us was stalking slowly onward to his tomb. Some murmurs of regret reached my ears; but I was prepared for more
than that. Whenever we camped, Saleh would stand before me, gaze fixedly into my face and generally say: “Mister Gile,
when you get water?” I pretended to laugh at the idea, and say. “Water? pooh! There's no water in this country, Saleh.
I didn't come here to find water, I came here to die, and you said you'd come and die too.” Then he would ponder
awhile, and say: “I think some camel he die to-morrow, Mr. Gile” I would say: “No, Saleh, they can't possibly live till
to-morrow, I think they will all die to-night.” Then he: “Oh, Mr. Gile, I think we all die soon now.” Then I: “Oh yes,
Saleh, we'll all be dead in a day or two.” When he found he couldn't get any satisfaction out of me he would begin to
pray, and ask me which was the east. I would point south: down he would go on his knees, and abase himself in the sand,
keeping his head in it for some time. Afterwards he would have a smoke, and I would ask: “What's the matter, Saleh?
what have you been doing?” “Ah, Mr. Gile,” was his answer, “I been pray to my God to give you a rock-hole to-morrow.” I
said, “Why, Saleh, if the rock-hole isn't there already there won't be time for your God to make it; besides, if you
can get what you want by praying for it, let me have a fresh-water lake, or a running river, that will take us right
away to Perth. What's the use of a paltry rock-hole?” Then he said solemnly, “Ah, Mr. Gile, you not religious.”

On the eleventh day the plains died off, and we re-entered a new bed of scrubs — again consisting of mallee,
casuarinas, desert sandal-wood, and quandong-trees of the same family; the ground was overgrown with spinifex. By the
night of the twelfth day from the dam, having daily increased our rate of progress, we had traversed scrubs more
undulating than previously, consisting of the usual kinds of trees. At sundown we descended into a hollow; I thought
this would prove the bed of another salt lake, but I found it to be a rain-water basin or very large clay-pan, and
although there were signs of the former presence of natives, the whole basin, grass, and herbage about it, were as dry
as the desert around. Having found a place where water could lodge, I was certainly disappointed at finding none in it,
as this showed that no rain whatever had fallen here, where it might have remained, when we had good but useless
showers immediately upon leaving the dam. From the appearance of the vegetation no rains could possibly have visited
this spot for many months, if not years. The grass was white and dry, and ready to blow away with any wind.

We had now travelled 242 miles from the little dam, and I thought it advisable here to give our lion-hearted camels
a day's respite, and to apportion out to them the water that some of them had carried for that purpose. By the time we
reached this distance from the last water, although no one had openly uttered the word retreat, all knowing it would be
useless, still I was not unassailed by croakings of some of the ravens of the party, who advised me, for the sake of
saving our own and some of the camels' lives, to sacrifice a certain number of the worst, and not give these
unfortunates any water at all. But I represented that it would be cruel, wrong, and unjust to pursue such a course, and
yet expect these neglected ones still to travel on with us; for even in their dejected state some, or even all, might
actually go as far without water as the others would go with; and as for turning them adrift, or shooting them in a mob
— which was also mooted — so long as they could travel, that was out of the question. So I declined all counsel, and
declared it should be a case of all sink or all swim. In the middle of the thirteenth day, during which we rested for
the purpose, the water was fairly divided among the camels; the quantity given to each was only a little over four
gallons — about equivalent to four thimblesful to a man. There were eighteen grown camels and one calf, Youldeh, the
quantity given was about eighty gallons. To give away this quantity of water in such a region was like parting with our
blood; but it was the creatures' right, and carried expressly for them; and with the renewed vigour which even that
small quantity imparted to them, our own lives seemed to obtain a new lease. Unfortunately, the old cow which calved at
Youldeh, and whose she-calf is the prettiest and nicest little pet in the world, has begun to fail in her milk, and I
am afraid the young animal will be unable to hold out to the end of this desert, if indeed it has an end this side of
Perth. The position of this dry basin is in latitude 30° 7´ 3´´, and longitude 124° 41´ 2´´. Since reaching the 125th
meridian, my course had been 5° more southerly, and on departing from this wretched basin on the 22nd of September,
with animals greatly refreshed and carrying much lighter loads, we immediately entered dense scrubs, composed as usual
of mallee, with its friend the spinifex, black oaks, and numerous gigantic mallee-like gum-trees. It seemed that
distance, which lends enchantment to the view, was the only chance for our lives; distance, distance, unknown distance
seemed to be our only goal. The country rose immediately from this depression into high and rolling hills of sand, and
here I was surprised to find that a number of the melancholy cypress pines ornamented both the sandy hills and the
spinifex depressions through and over which we went. Here, indeed, some few occasional signs and traces of the former
presence of natives existed. The only water they can possibly get in this region must be from the roots of the trees. A
great number of the so-called native poplar-trees, of two varieties, Codonocarpus, were now met, and the camels took
huge bites at them as they passed by. The smaller vegetation assumed the familiar similitude to that around the Mount
Olga of my two first horse expeditions. Two wild dog puppies were seen and caught by my black boy Tommy and Nicholls,
in the scrubs to-day, the fourteenth from the dam. Tommy and others had also found a few Lowans', Leipoa ocellata,
nests, and we secured a few of the pink-tinted eggs; this was the laying season. These, with the turkey Mr. Young had
shot on the plain, were the only adjuncts to our supplies that we had obtained from this region. After to-day's stage
there was nothing but the native poplar for the camels to eat, and they devoured the leaves with great apparent relish,
though to my human taste it is about the most disgusting of vegetables. The following day, fifteenth from water, we
accomplished twenty-six miles of scrubs. Our latitude here was 30° 17´. The country continued to rise into sandhills,
from which the only views obtainable presented spaces precisely similar to those already traversed and left behind to
the eastwards, and if it were only from our experience of what we had passed, that we were to gather intelligence of
what was before us in the future, then would our future be gloomy indeed.

In Queen Victoria's Desert

At twelve o'clock on the sixteenth day some natives' smoke was seen straight on our course, and also some of their
foot-marks. The days throughout this march had been warm; the thermometer at twelve o'clock, when we let the camels lie
down, with their loads on, for an hour, usually stood at 94, 95, or 96°, while in the afternoon it was some degrees
hotter. On Saturday, the 25th of September, being the sixteenth day from the water at the Boundary Dam, we travelled
twenty-seven miles, still on our course, through mallee and spinifex, pines, casuarinas, and quandong-trees, and
noticed for the first time upon this expedition some very fine specimens of the Australian grass-tree, Xanthorrhoea;
the giant mallee were also numerous. The latter give a most extraordinary appearance to the scenes they adorn, for they
cheat the eye of the traveller into the belief that he is passing through tracts of alluvial soil, and gazing, upon the
water-indicating gum-trees. This night we reached a most abominable encampment; there was nothing that the camels could
eat, and the ground was entirely covered with great bunches of spinifex. Before us, and all along the western horizon,
we had a black-looking and scrubby rise of very high sandhills; each of us noticed its resemblance to those sandhills
which had confronted us to the north and east when at Youldeh. By observation we found that we were upon the same
latitude, but had reached a point in longitude 500 miles to the west of it. It is highly probable that no water exists
in a straight line between the two places. Shortly before evening, Mr. Young was in advance steering, but he kept so
close under the sun — it being now so near the equinox, the sun set nearly west, and our course being 21° south of west
— I had to go forward and tell him that he was not steering rightly. Of course he became indignant, and saying,
“Perhaps you'll steer, then, if you don't think I can!” he handed me the compass. I took it in silence and steered more
southerly, in the proper direction of our course; this led us over a long white ridge of sand, and brought us to the
hollow where, as I said before, we had such a wretched encampment. I mention this as a circumstance attaches to it. The
fate of empires at times has hung upon a thread, and our fate now hung upon my action. We had come 323 miles without
having seen a drop of water. There was silence and melancholy in the camp; and was it to be wondered at if, in such a
region and under such circumstances, there was:—

“A load on each spirit, a cloud o'er each soul,

With eyes that could scan not, our destiny's scroll.”

Every man seemed to turn his eyes on me. I was the great centre of attraction; every action of mine was held to have
some peculiar meaning. I was continually asked night after night if we should get water the following day? The reply,
“How can I tell?” was insufficient; I was supposed to know to an inch where water was and exactly when we could reach
it. I believe all except the officers thought I was making for a known water, for although I had explained the
situation before leaving the dam, it was only now that they were beginning to comprehend its full meaning. Towards the
line of dark sandhills, which formed the western horizon, was a great fall of country into a kind of hollow, and on the
following morning, the seventeenth day from the dam, Mr. Tietkens appeared greatly impressed with the belief that we
were in the neighbourhood of water. I said nothing of my own impressions, for I thought something of the kind also,
although I said I would not believe it. It was Mr. Tietkens's turn to steer, and he started on foot ahead of the string
of camels for that purpose. He gave Tommy his little riding-bull, the best leading camel we have, and told him to go on
top of a white sandhill to our left, a little south of us, and try if he could find any fresh blacks' tracks, or other
indications of water. I did not know that Tommy had gone, nor could I see that Tietkens was walking — it was an
extraordinary event when the whole string of camels could be seen at once in a line in this country — and we had been
travelling some two miles and a half when Alec Ross and Peter Nicholls declared that they heard Tommy calling out
“water!” I never will believe these things until they are proved, so I kept the party still going on. However, even I,
soon ceased to doubt, for Tommy came rushing through the scrubs full gallop, and, between a scream and a howl, yelled
out quite loud enough now even for me to hear, “Water! water! plenty water here! come on! come on! this way! this way!
come on, Mr. Giles! mine been find 'em plenty water!” I checked his excitement a moment and asked whether it was a
native well he had found, and should we have to work at it with the shovel? Tommy said, “No fear shovel, that fellow
water sit down meself (i.e. itself) along a ground, camel he drink 'em meself.” Of course we turned the long string
after him. Soon after he left us he had ascended the white sandhill whither Mr. Tietkens had sent him, and what sight
was presented to his view! A little open oval space of grass land, half a mile away, surrounded entirely by pine-trees,
and falling into a small funnel-shaped hollow, looked at from above. He said that before he ascended the sandhill he
had seen the tracks of an emu, and on descending he found the bird's track went for the little open circle. He then
followed it to the spot, and saw a miniature lake lying in the sand, with plenty of that inestimable fluid which he had
not beheld for more than 300 miles. He watered his camel, and then rushed after us, as we were slowly passing on
ignorantly by this life-sustaining prize, to death and doom. Had Mr. Young steered rightly the day before — whenever it
was his turn during that day I had had to tell him to make farther south — we should have had this treasure right upon
our course; and had I not checked his incorrect steering in the evening, we should have passed under the northern face
of a long, white sandhill more than two miles north of this water. Neither Tommy nor anybody else would have seen the
place on which it lies, as it is completely hidden in the scrubs; as it was, we should have passed within a mile of it
if Mr. Tietkens had not sent Tommy to look out, though I had made up my mind not to enter the high sandhills beyond
without a search in this hollow, for my experience told me if there was no water in it, none could exist in this
terrible region at all, and we must have found the tracks of natives, or wild dogs or emus leading to the water. Such
characters in the book of Nature the explorer cannot fail to read, as we afterwards saw numerous native foot-marks all
about. When we arrived with the camels at this newly-discovered liquid gem, I found it answered to Tommy's description.
It is the most singularly-placed water I have ever seen, lying in a small hollow in the centre of a little grassy flat,
and surrounded by clumps of the funereal pines, “in a desert inaccessible, under the shade of melancholy boughs.” While
watering my little camel at its welcome waters, I might well exclaim, “In the desert a fountain is springing”— though
in this wide waste there's too many a tree. The water is no doubt permanent, for it is supplied by the drainage of the
sandhills that surround it, and it rests on a substratum of impervious clay. It lies exposed to view in a small open
basin, the water being only about 150 yards in circumference and from two to three feet deep. Farther up the slopes, at
much higher levels, native wells had been sunk in all directions — in each and all of these there was water. One large
well, apparently a natural one, lay twelve or thirteen feet higher up than the largest basin, and contained a plentiful
supply of pure water. Beyond the immediate precincts of this open space the scrubs abound.

It may be imagined how thankful we were for the discovery of this only and lonely watered spot, after traversing
such a desert. How much longer and farther the expedition could have gone on without water we were now saved the
necessity of guessing, but this I may truly say, that Sir Thomas Elder's South Australian camels are second to none in
the world for strength and endurance. From both a human and humane point of view, it was most fortunate to have found
this spring, and with it a respite, not only from our unceasing march, but from the terrible pressure on our minds of
our perilous situation; for the painful fact was ever before us, that even after struggling bravely through hundreds of
miles of frightful scrubs, we might die like dogs in the desert at last, unheard of and unknown. On me the most severe
was the strain; for myself I cared not, I had so often died in spirit in my direful journeys that actual death was
nothing to me. But for vanity, or fame, or honour, or greed, and to seek the bubble reputation, I had brought six other
human beings into a dreadful strait, and the hollow eyes and gaunt, appealing glances that were always fixed on me were
terrible to bear; but I gathered some support from a proverb of Solomon: “If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy
strength is small.” Mount Churchman, the place I was endeavouring to reach, was yet some 350 miles distant; this
discovery, it was therefore evident, was the entire salvation of the whole party.

During our march for these sixteen or seventeen days from the little dam, I had not put the members of my party upon
an actual short allowance of water. Before we watered the camels we had over 100 gallons of water, yet the implied
restraint was so great that we were all in a continual state of thirst during the whole time, and the small quantity of
water consumed — of course we never had any tea or coffee — showed how all had restrained themselves.

Queen Victoria's Spring.

Geographical features have been terribly scarce upon this expedition, and this peculiar spring is the first
permanent water I have found. I have ventured to dedicate it to our most gracious Queen. The great desert in which I
found it, and which will most probably extend to the west as far as it does to the east, I have also honoured with Her
Majesty's mighty name, calling it the Great Victoria Desert, and the spring, Queen Victoria's Spring. In future times
these may be celebrated localities in the British Monarch's dominions. I have no Victoria or Albert Nyanzas, no
Tanganyikas, Lualabas, or Zambezes, like the great African travellers, to honour with Her Majesty's name, but the
humble offering of a little spring in a hideous desert, which, had it surrounded the great geographical features I have
enumerated, might well have kept them concealed for ever, will not, I trust, be deemed unacceptable in Her Majesty's
eyes, when offered by a loyal and most faithful subject.

On our arrival here our camels drank as only thirsty camels can, and great was our own delight to find ourselves
again enabled to drink at will and indulge in the luxury of a bath. Added to both these pleasures was a more generous
diet, so that we became quite enamoured of our new home. At this spring the thorny vegetation of the desert grew
alongside the more agreeable water-plants at the water's edge, so that fertility and sterility stood side by side. Mr.
Young planted some seeds of numerous vegetables, plants, and trees, and among others some of the giant bamboo,
Dendrocalamus striatus, also Tasmanian blue gum and wattles. I am afraid these products of Nature will never reach
maturity, for the natives are continually burning the rough grass and spinifex, and on a favourably windy occasion
these will consume everything green or dry, down to the water's edge. There seems to be very little native game here,
though a number of bronze-winged pigeons came to water at night and morning. There are, however, so many small native
wells besides the larger sheet, for them to drink at, and also such a quantity of a thorny vegetation to screen them,
that we have not been very successful in getting any. Our best shot, Mr. Young, succeeded in bagging only four or five.
It was necessary, now that we had found this spring, to give our noble camels a fair respite, the more so as the food
they will eat is very scarce about here, as we have yet over 300 miles to travel to reach Mount Churchman, with every
probability of getting no water between. There are many curious flying and creeping insects here, but we have not been
fortunate in catching many. Last night, however, I managed to secure and methylate a good-sized scorpion. After resting
under the umbrageous foliage of the cypress-pines, among which our encampment was fixed for a week, the party and
camels had all recovered from the thirst and fatigue of our late march, and it really seemed impossible to believe that
such a stretch of country as 325 miles could actually have been traversed between this and the last water. The weather
during our halt had been very warm, the thermometer had tried to go over 100° in the shade, but fell short by one
degree. Yesterday was an abominable day; a heated tornado blew from the west from morning until night and continued
until this morning, when, without apparent change otherwise, and no clouds, the temperature of the wind entirely
altered and we had an exceedingly cool and delightful day. We found the position of this spring to be in latitude 30°
25´ 30´´ and longitude 123° 21´ 13´´. On leaving a depot and making a start early in the morning, camels, like horses,
may not be particularly inclined to fill themselves with water, while they might do so in the middle of the day, and
thus may leave a depot on a long dry march not half filled. The Arabs in Egypt and other camel countries, when starting
for a desert march, force the animals, as I have seen — that is, read of — to fill themselves up by using bullocks'
horns for funnels and pouring the water down their throats till the creatures are ready to burst. The camels, knowing
by experience, so soon as the horns are stuck into their mouths, that they are bound for a desert march, fill up
accordingly.

Strange to say, though I had brought from Port Augusta almost every article that could be mentioned for the journey,
yet I did not bring any bullocks' horns, and it was too late now to send Tommy back to procure some; we consequently
could not fill up our camels at starting, after the Arab fashion. In order to obviate any disadvantage on this account,
to-day I sent, with Mr. Tietkens and Alec Ross, three camels, loaded with water, to be deposited about twenty-five
miles on our next line of route, so that the camels could top up en passant. The water was to be poured into two canvas
troughs and covered over with a tarpaulin. This took two days going and coming, but we remained yet another two, at the
Queen's Spring.

Before I leave that spot I had perhaps better remark that it might prove a very difficult, perhaps dangerous place,
to any other traveller to attempt to find, because, although there are many white sandhills in the neighbourhood, the
open space on which the water lies is so small in area and so closely surrounded by scrubs, that it cannot be seen from
any conspicuous one, nor can any conspicuous sandhill, distinguishable at any distance, be seen from it. It lies at or
near the south-west end of a mass of white-faced sandhills; there are none to the south or west of it. While we
remained here a few aboriginals prowled about the camp, but they never showed themselves. On the top of the bank, above
all the wells, was a beaten corroborree path, where these denizens of the desert have often held their feasts and
dances. Tommy found a number of long, flat, sword-like weapons close by, and brought four or five of them into the
camp. They were ornamented after the usual Australian aboriginal fashion, some with slanting cuts or grooves along the
blade, others with square, elliptical, or rounded figures; several of these two-handed swords were seven feet long, and
four or five inches wide; wielded with good force, they were formidable enough to cut a man in half at a blow.

This spring could not be the only water in this region; I believe there was plenty more in the immediate
neighbourhood, as the natives never came to water here. It was singular how we should have dropped upon such a scene,
and penetrated thus the desert's vastness, to the scrub-secluded fastness of these Austral-Indians' home. Mr. Young and
I collected a great many specimens of plants, flowers, insects, and reptiles. Among the flowers was the marvellous red,
white, blue, and yellow wax-like flower of a hideous little gnarled and stunted mallee-tree; it is impossible to keep
these flowers unless they could be hermetically preserved in glass; all I collected and most carefully put away in
separate tin boxes fell to pieces, and lost their colours. The collection of specimens of all kinds got mislaid in
Adelaide. Some grass-trees grew in the vicinity of this spring to a height of over twenty feet. On the evening of the
5th of October a small snake and several very large scorpions came crawling about us as we sat round the fire; we
managed to bottle the scorpions, but though we wounded the snake it escaped; I was very anxious to methylate him also,
but it appeared he had other ideas, and I should not be at all surprised if a pressing interview with his undertaker
was one of them.

One evening a discussion arose about the moon, and Saleh was trying to teach Tommy something, God knows what, about
it. Amongst other assertions he informed Tommy that the moon travelled from east to west, “because, you see, Tommy,” he
said, “he like the sun — sun travel west too.” Tommy shook his head very sapiently, and said, “No, I don't think that,
I think moon go the other way.” “No fear,” said Saleh, “how could it?” Then Peter Nicholls was asked, and he couldn't
tell; he thought Saleh was right, because the moon did set in the west. So Tommy said, “Oh, well, I'll ask Mr. Giles,”
and they came to where Mr. T, Mr. Y., and I were seated, and told us the argument. I said, “No, Saleh, the moon travels
just the other way.” Then Tommy said, “I tole you so, I know,” but of course he couldn't explain himself. Saleh was
scandalised, and all his religious ideas seemed upset. So I said, “Well, now, Saleh, you say the moon travels to the
west; now do you see where she is to-night, between those two stars?” “Oh, yes,” he said, “I see.” I said, “If
to-morrow night she is on the east side of that one,” pointing to one, “she must have travelled east to get there,
mustn't she?” “Oh, no,” said Saleh, “she can't go there, she must come down west like the sun,” etc. In vain we showed
him the next night how she had moved still farther east among the stars; that was nothing to him. It would have been
far easier to have converted him to Christianity than to make him alter his original opinion. With regard to Tommy's
ideas, I may say that nearly all Australian natives are familiar with the motions of the heavenly bodies, knowing the
difference between a star and a planet, and all tribes that I have been acquainted with have proper names for each, the
moon also being a very particular object of their attention.

While at this water we occasionally saw hawks, crows, corellas, a pink-feathered kind of cockatoo, and black
magpies, which in some parts of the country are also called mutton birds, and pigeons. One day Peter Nicholls shot a
queer kind of carrion bird, not so large as a crow, although its wings were as long. It had the peculiar dancing hop of
the crow, its plumage was of a dark slate colour, with whitish tips to the wings, its beak was similar to a crow's.

We had now been at this depot for nine days, and on the 6th of October we left it behind to the eastward, as we had
done all the other resting places we had found. I desired to go as straight as possible for Mount Churchman. Its
position by the chart is in latitude 29° 58´, and longitude 118°. Straight lines on a map and straight lines through
dense scrubs are, however, totally different, and, go as straight as we could, we must make it many miles farther than
its distance showed by the chart.

Chapter 4.3. From 6th to 18th October, 1875.

Depart for Mount Churchman. Yellow-barked trees. Wallaby traps. Sight a low hill. Several salt lakes.
Another hill. Camels bogged. Natives' smoke. Bare rocks. Grass-trees. Clayey and grassy ground. Dryness of the region.
Another mass of bare rocks. A pretty place. Crows and native foot-tracks. Tommy finds a well. Then another. Alone on
the rocks. Voices of the angels. Women coming for water. First natives seen. Arrival of the party. Camels very thirsty
but soon watered. Two hundred miles of desert. Natives come to the camp. Splendid herbage. A romantic spot. More
natives arrive. Native ornaments. A mouthpiece. Cold night. Thermometer 32°. Animals' tracks. Natives arrive for
breakfast. Inspection of native encampment. Old implements of white men in the camp. A lame camel. Ularring. A little
girl. Dislikes a looking-glass. A quiet and peaceful camp. A delightful oasis. Death and danger lurking near. Scouts
and spies. A furious attack. Personal foe. Dispersion of the enemy. A child's warning. Keep a watch. Silence at night.
Howls and screams in the morning. The Temple of Nature. Reflections. Natives seen no more.

On the 6th October, as I have said, we departed, and at once entered into the second division of Her Majesty Queen
Victoria's great Australian desert. That night we camped at the place where Mr. Tietkens and Alec Ross, albeit a short
measure for twenty-five miles, had left the two troughs full of water. I had instructed them to travel west-north-west.
The country of course was all scrubs and sandhills. We saw a few currajong-trees during our day's stage, and where we
camped there were a number of well-grown eucalyptus-trees with yellow bark. These seemed to me very like the yellow
jacket timber that grows on watercourses in parts of New South Wales and Queensland. The water I had sent out to this
place was just sufficient to fill up the camels. The following day, at three miles from the camp, we came to some large
granite boulders in the scrubs; but there were no receptacles for holding water at any time. At sixteen miles we
reached a dry salt lake on our left hand; this continued near our line for four miles. Both yesterday and to-day we saw
some native wallaby traps in the dense scrubs; these are simply long lines of sticks, boughs, bushes, etc., which, when
first laid down, may be over a foot high; they are sometimes over a quarter of a mile long. These lines meet each other
at nearly right angles, and form a corner. For a few yards on each side of the corner the fence is raised to between
four and five feet, made somewhat substantial and laid with boughs. Over this is thrown either a large net or a roofing
of boughs. I saw no signs of nets in this region. The wallaby are hunted until they get alongside the fences; if they
are not flurried they will hop along it until they get to a part which is too high, or they think it is; then they go
up into the trap, where there is a small opening, and get knocked on the head for their pains by a black man inside. At
twenty miles we actually sighted a low hill. Here was a change. At four miles farther we reached its foot; there were
salt lake depressions nearly all round us. Here we found a small quantity of the little pea-vetch, which is such
excellent food for the camels.

From the summit of this little hill, the first I had met for nearly 800 miles — Mount Finke was the last — another
low scrubby ridge lay to the westward, and nearly across our course, with salt lakes intervening, and others lying
nearly all round the horizon. At the foot of the little hill we encamped. A few hundred acres of ground were open, and
there were clay-pans upon it, but no rain could have fallen here for ages I should imagine. The hill was only 200 feet
high, and it was composed of granite stones. I was glad, however, to see some granite crop out, as we were now
approaching the western coast-line formation; this I have always understood to be all granite, and it was about time
that something like a change of country should occur. The following day, in making for the low range, we found
ourselves caught in the ramifications of some of the saline depressions, and had to go a long way round to avoid them.
Just before we reached the low range we passed the shore of another salt lake, which had a hard, firm, and
quartz-pebbly bed, and we were enabled to travel across it to the hills; these we reached in sixteen miles from our
last camp. The view from the summit was as discouraging as ever. To the west appeared densely scrubby rises, and to the
south many salt channels existed, while in every other direction scrubs and scrubby rises bounded the view. This low
range was about 300 feet high; the ridges beyond continued on our course, a little north of west for two or three
miles, when we again entered the sandy scrubs, and camped, after travelling twenty-eight miles. Our position here was
in latitude 30° 10´ 5´´, and longitude 122° 7´ 6´´. The next day we had scrubs undulating as usual, and made a day's
stage of twenty-four miles, sighting at twelve miles three low ranges, northerly, north-easterly, and
east-north-easterly, the most easterly appearing to be the highest. They were from twenty to thirty miles away from our
line.

On the 9th and 10th October we had all scrubs; on the 11th, towards evening, we had some scrubby ridges in front of
us, and were again hemmed in by salt lakes. To save several miles of roundabout travelling, we attempted to cross one
of these, which, though not very broad, was exceedingly long to the north and south, and lay right across our track.
Unfortunately a number of the leading camels became apparently hopelessly embedded in a fearful bog, and we had great
difficulty in getting them safely out. It was only by the strenuous exertions of all hands, and by pulling up the
camels' legs with ropes, and poking tarpaulins into the vacated holes, that we finally rescued them without loss. We
then had to carry out all their loads ourselves, and also the huge and weighty pack-saddles. We found it no easy matter
to carry 200 pounds, half a load — some of the water-casks weighed more — on our backs, when nearly up to our necks in
the briny mud, on to the firm ground. However, we were most fortunate in having no loss with the camels, for a camel in
a bog is the most helpless creature imaginable. Leaving the bog, we started up the shore of the lake, northerly, where
we found some more of the little pea-vetch, and encamped, making only twenty-four miles straight from last camp. The
camels have had nothing to eat for three nights previously. We saw some natives' smoke three or four miles away from
where we camped, and as there were ridges near it, I intend to send some one there in the morning to look for
water.

We had still some miles to go, to get round the northern end of the boggy lake. Alec Ross and Tommy walked across,
to hunt up any traces of natives, etc., and to look for water. On clearing this boggy feature, we ascended into some
densely scrubby granite rises; these had some bare rocks exposed here and there, but no indentations for holding water
could be seen. At fifteen or sixteen miles, having passed all the ridges, and entered scrubs and mallee again, Alec and
Tommy overtook us, Mr. Young having remained behind with their camels, and reported that they had found one small
rock-hole. Alec said it had twenty or thirty gallons of water in it, but Tommy said there was only a little drop, so I
did not think it worth while to delay by sending any camels back so far for so little reward. We saw two or three dozen
grass-trees to-day, also some quandong and currajong trees, and camped again in scrubs where there was only a few
leguminous bushes for the camels to eat. We had travelled twenty-eight miles, which only made twenty-four straight. The
last three days had been warm, the thermometer going up to 98° in the shade each day at about twelve o'clock; the
camels were very thirsty, and would not feed as the provender was so very poor.

During the last few days we had met with occasional patches of grassy and clayey ground, generally where the
yellow-barked eucalypts grew, and we passed numerous small clay-channels and pans, in which rain-water might lodge for
some time after a shower, but it was evident from the appearance of the grass and vegetation that no rains could have
visited the region for a year, or it might be for a hundred years; every vegetable thing seemed dry, sere, or dead. On
the 13th of October, at twelve miles from camp, we passed over some more scrubby granite ridges, where some extent of
bare rock lay exposed. I searched about it, but the indents were so small and shallow that water could not remain in
them for more than a week after rains had filled them. While I was searching on foot, Mr. Young and Tommy, from their
camels' backs, saw another mass of bare rocks further away to the north-west. I took Tommy with me, on Reechy, and we
went over to the spot, while the party continued marching on; on arriving we found a very pretty piece of scenery.
Several hundred acres of bare rocks, with grassy flats sloping down from them to the west, and forming little
watercourses or flat water-channels; there were great numbers of crows, many fresh natives' tracks, and the smoke of
several fires in the surrounding scrub. Tommy took the lower ground, while I searched the rocks. He soon found a small
native well in a grassy water-channel, and called out to me. On joining him I found that there was very little water in
sight, but I thought a supply might be got with a shovel, and I decided to send him on my camel to bring the party
back, for we had come over 200 miles from Queen Victoria's Spring, and this was the first water I had seen since
leaving there. We gave little Reechy, or as I usually called her Screechy, all the water we could get out of the well,
with one of Tommy's boots; she drank it out of his hat, and they started away. I fully believed there was more water
about somewhere, and I intended having a good hunt until either I found it or the party came. I watched Tommy start, of
course at full speed, for when he got a chance of riding Screechy he was in his glory, and as she was behind the mob,
and anxious to overtake them, she would go at the rate of twenty miles an hour, if allowed to gallop; but much to my
surprise, when they had gone about 200 yards along the grassy water-channel, apparently in an instant, down went Reechy
on her knees, and Tommy, still in the saddle, yelled out to me, “Plenty water here! plenty water here!” Reechy, who had
not had half enough at the first place, would not go past this one.

I walked down and saw a large well with a good body of water in it, evidently permanently supplied by the drainage
of the mass of bare rocks in its vicinity. I was greatly pleased at Tommy's discovery, and after giving Reechy a
thorough good drink, off he went like a rocket after the party. I wandered about, but found no other water-place; and
then, thinking of the days that were long enough ago, I sat in the shade of an umbrageous acacia bush. Soon I heard the
voices of the angels, native black and fallen angels, and their smokes came gradually nearer. I thought they must have
seen me on the top of the rocks, and desired to make my further acquaintance. The advancing party, however, turned out
to be only two women coming for water to the well. They had vessels, usually called coolamins — these are small wooden
troughs, though sometimes made of bark, and are shaped like miniature canoes — for carrying water to their encampment.
When they came near enough to see what I was, they ran away a short distance, then stopped, turned round, and looked at
me. Of course I gave a gentle bow, as to something quite uncommon; a man may bend his lowest in a desert to a woman. I
also made signs for them to come to the well, but they dropped their bark coolamins and walked smartly off. I picked up
these things, and found them to be of a most original, or rather aboriginal, construction. They were made of small
sheets of the yellow-tree bark, tied up at the ends with bark-string, thus forming small troughs. When filled, some
grass or leaves are put on top of the water to prevent it slopping over. The women carry these troughs on their heads.
I was not near enough to distinguish whether the women were beautiful or not; all I could make out was that one was
young and fatter than the other. Amongst aborigines of every clime fatness goes a great way towards beauty. The
youngest and fattest was the last to decamp.

These were the first natives I had seen upon this expedition; no others appeared while I was by myself. In about
four hours the party arrived; they had travelled six miles past the place when Tommy overtook them. We soon watered all
the camels; they were extremely thirsty, for they had travelled 202 miles from Queen Victoria's Spring, although, in a
straight line, we were only 180 miles from it. Almost immediately upon the arrival of the caravan, a number of native
men and one young boy made their appearance. They were apparently quiet and inoffensive, and some of them may have seen
white people before, for one or two spoke a few English words, such as “white fellow,” “what name,” “boy,” etc. They
seemed pleased, but astonished to see the camels drink such an enormous quantity of water; they completely emptied the
well, and the natives have probably never seen it empty before. The water drained in pretty fast: in an hour the well
was as full as ever, and with much purer water than formerly. There was plenty of splendid herbage and leguminous
bushes here for the camels. It is altogether a most romantic and pretty place; the little grassy channels were green
and fresh-looking, and the whole space for a mile around open, and dotted with shady acacia trees and bushes. Between
two fine acacias, nearly under the edge of a huge, bare expanse of rounded rock, our camp was fixed. The slope of the
whole area is to the west.

It reminded me of Wynbring more than any other place I have seen. At first only eight natives made their appearance,
and Mr. Young cut up a red handkerchief into as many strips. These we tied around their regal brows, and they seemed
exceedingly proud of themselves. Towards evening three or four more came to the camp; one had a large piece of pearl
oyster-shell depending from a string round his neck, another had a queer ornament made of short feathers also depending
from the neck; it looked like the mouth of a porte-monnaie. When I wished to examine it, the wearer popped it over his
mouth, and opened that extensive feature to its fullest dimensions, laughing most heartily. He had a very theatrical
air, and the extraordinary mouthpiece made him look like a demon in, or out of, a pantomime. In taking this ornament
off his neck he broke the string, and I supplied him with a piece of elastic band, so that he could put it on and off
without undoing it, whenever he pleased; but the extraordinary phenomenon to him of the extension of a solid was more
than he was prepared for, and he scarcely liked to allow it to touch his person again. I put it over my head first, and
this reassured him, so that he wore it again as usual. They seemed a very good-natured lot of fellows, and we gave them
a trifle of damper and sugar each. During the morning, before we arrived here, Tommy had been most successful in
obtaining Lowans' eggs, and we had eleven or twelve with us. When the natives saw these, which no doubt they looked
upon as their own peculiar and lawful property, they eyed them with great anxiety, and, pointing to them, they spoke to
one another, probably expecting that we should hand the eggs over to them; but we didn't do it. At night they went
away; their camp could not be far off, as we continually heard the sounds of voices and could see their camp fires.
Before sunrise the following morning the mercury fell to 32°; although there was no dew to freeze, to us it appeared to
be 100° below zero. The only animals' tracks seen round our well were emus, wild dogs, and Homo sapiens. Lowans and
other desert birds and marsupials appear never to approach the watering-places.

Our sable friends came very early to breakfast, and brought a few more whom we had not previously seen; also two
somewhat old and faded frail, if not fair, ones; soon after a little boy came by himself. This young imp of Satan was
just like a toad — all mouth and stomach. It appeared these natives practise the same rites of incision, excision, and
semi-circumcision as the Fowler's Bay tribes; and Tommy, who comes from thence, said he could understand a few words
these people spoke, but not all; he was too shy to attempt a conversation with them, but he listened to all they said,
and occasionally interpreted a few of their remarks to us. These principally referred to where he could have come from
and what for. To-day Alec Ross and Peter Nicholls walked over to the natives' encampment, and reported that most of the
men who had been to our camp were sitting there with nothing to eat in the camp; the women being probably out on a
hunting excursion, whilst they, as lords of creation, waited quietly at their club till dinner should be announced.
They got very little from me, as I had no surplus food to spare. Nicholls told me they had some tin billies and
shear-blades in the camp, and I noticed that one of the first batch we saw had a small piece of coarse cloth on;
another had a piece of horse's girth webbing. On questioning the most civilised, and inquiring about some places, whose
native names were given on my chart, I found they knew two or three of these, and generally pointed in the proper
directions. It was evident they had often seen white people before, if, they had never eaten any.

One of our cow camels had been very lame for two or three days, and now we found she had a long mulga stake stuck up
through the thick sole of her spongy foot. I got a long piece out with knife and plyers, but its removal did not appear
to improve her case, for the whole lower part of her leg was more swollen after than before the extraction of the wood,
but I hoped a day or two would put her right. Yesterday, the 15th of October, Mr. Young managed to get the name of this
place from the natives. They call it Ularring, with the accent on the second syllable. It is a great relief to my mind
to get it, as it saves me the invidious task of selecting only one name by which to call the place from the list of my
numerous friends. This morning, 16th, our usual visitors arrived; two are most desirous to go westward with us when we
start. A little later a very pretty little girl came by herself. She was about nine or ten years old, and immediately
became the pet of the camp. All the people of this tribe are excessively thin, and so was this little creature. She had
splendid eyes and beautiful teeth, and we soon dressed her up, and gave her a good breakfast. In an hour after her
arrival she was as much at home in my camp as though I were her father. She is a merry little thing, but we can't
understand a word she says. She evidently takes a great interest in everything she sees at the camp, but she didn't
seem to care to look at herself in a glass, though the men always did.

While we were at dinner to-day a sudden whirl-wind sprang up and sent a lot of my loose papers, from where I had
been writing, careering so wildly into the air, that I was in great consternation lest I should lose several sheets of
my journal, and find my imagination put to the test of inventing a new one. We all ran about after the papers, and so
did some of the blacks, and finally they were all recovered. Mr. Young cut my initials and date thus: E. over G. over
75., upon a Grevillea or beef-wood-tree, which grew close to the well. While here we have enjoyed delightful weather;
gentle breezes and shady tree(es), quiet and inoffensive aboriginals, with pretty children in the midst of a peaceful
and happy camp, situated in charming scenery amidst fantastic rocks, with beautiful herbage and pure water for our
almighty beasts. What a delightful oasis in the desert to the weary traveller! The elder aboriginals, though the words
of their mouths were smoother than butter, yet war was in their hearts. They appeared to enjoy our company very well.
“Each in his place allotted, had silent sat or squatted, while round their children trotted, in pretty youthful play.
One can't but smile who traces the lines on their dark faces, to the pretty prattling graces of these small heathens
gay.”

The 16th October, 1875, was drawing to a close, as all its predecessors from time's remotest infancy have done; the
cheery voice of the expedition cook had called us to our evening meal; as usual we sat down in peaceful contentment,
not dreaming that death or danger was lurking near, but nevertheless, outside this peaceful scene a mighty preparation
for our destruction was being made by an army of unseen and unsuspected foes.

“The hunting tribes of air and earth

Respect the brethren of their birth;

Man only mars kind Nature's plan,

And turns the fierce pursuit on man.”

Attack at Ularring.

Our supper was spread, by chance or Providential interference, a little earlier than usual. Mr. Young, having
finished his meal first, had risen from his seat. I happened to be the last at the festive board. In walking towards
the place where his bedding was spread upon the rocks, he saw close to him, but above on the main rock, and at about
the level of his eyes, two unarmed natives making signs to the two quiet and inoffensive ones that were in the camp,
and instantaneously after he saw the front rank of a grand and imposing army approaching, guided by the two scouts in
advance. I had not much time to notice them in detail, but I could see that these warriors were painted, feathered, and
armed to the teeth with spears, clubs, and other weapons, and that they were ready for instant action. Mr. Young gave
the alarm, and we had only just time to seize our firearms when the whole army was upon us. At a first glance this
force was most imposing; the coup d'oeil was really magnificent; they looked like what I should imagine a body of
Comanche Indians would appear when ranged in battle line. The men were closely packed in serried ranks, and it was
evident they formed a drilled and perfectly organised force. Immediate action became imminent, and as most fortunately
they had thought to find us seated at supper, and to spear us as we sat in a body together, we had just time, before
fifty, sixty, or a hundred spears could be thrown at us, as I immediately gave the command to fire, to have the first
discharge at them. Had it been otherwise not one of us could possibly have escaped their spears — all would certainly
have been killed, for there were over a hundred of the enemy, and they approached us in a solid phalanx of five or six
rows, each row consisting of eighteen or twenty warriors. Their project no doubt was, that so soon as any of us was
speared by the warriors, the inoffensive spies in the camp were to tomahawk us at their leisure, as we rolled about in
agony from our wounds; but, taken by surprise, their otherwise exceedingly well-organised attack, owing to a slight
change in our supper-hour, was a little too late, and our fire caused a great commotion and wavering in their legion's
ordered line. One of the quiet and inoffensive spies in the camp, as soon as he saw me jump up and prepare for action,
ran and jumped on me, put his arms round my neck to prevent my firing, and though we could not get a word of English
out of him previously, when he did this, he called out, clinging on to me, with his hand on my throat, “Don't, don't!”
I don't know if I swore, but I suppose I must, as I was turned away from the thick array with most extreme disgust. I
couldn't disengage myself; I couldn't attend to the main army, for I had to turn my attention entirely to this infernal
encumbrance; all I could do was to yell out “Fire! fire for your lives.” I intended to give the spy a taste of my rifle
first, but in consequence of his being in such close quarters to me, and my holding my rifle with one hand, while I
endeavoured to free myself with the other, I could not point the muzzle at my assailant, and my only way of clearing
myself from his hold was by battering his head with the butt end of the weapon with my right hand, while he still clung
round my left side. At last I disengaged myself, and he let go suddenly, and slipped instantly behind one of the thick
acacia bushes, and got away, just as the army in front was wavering. All this did not occupy many seconds of time, and
I believe my final shot decided the battle. The routed army, carrying their wounded, disappeared behind the trees and
bushes beyond the bare rock where the battle was fought, and from whence not many minutes before they had so gallantly
emerged. This was the best organised and most disciplined aboriginal force I ever saw. They must have thoroughly
digested their plan of attack, and sent not only quiet and inoffensive spies into the camp, but a pretty little girl
also, to lull any suspicions of their evil intentions we might have entertained. Once during the day the little girl
sat down by me and began a most serious discourse in her own language, and as she warmed with her subject she got up,
gesticulated and imitated the action of natives throwing spears, pointed towards the natives' camp, stamped her foot on
the ground close to me, and was no doubt informing me of the intended onslaught of the tribe. As, however, I did not
understand a word she said, I did not catch her meaning either; besides, I was writing, and she nearly covered me with
dust, so that I thought her a bit of a juvenile bore.

After the engagement we picked up a great number of spears and other weapons, where the hostile army had stood. The
spears were long, light, and barbed, and I could not help thinking how much more I liked them on my outside than my in.
I destroyed all the weapons I could lay hold of, much to the disgust of the remaining spy, who had kept quiet all
through the fray. He seems to be some relative of the little girl, for they always go about together; she may probably
be his intended wife. During the conflict, this little creature became almost frantic with excitement, and ran off to
each man who was about to fire, especially Nicholls, the cook, with whom she seemed quite in love, patting him on the
back, clapping her small hands, squeaking out her delight, and jumping about like a crow with a shirt on. While the
fight was in progress, in the forgetfulness of his excitation, my black boy Tommy began to speak apparently quite
fluently in their language to the two spies, keeping up a running conversation with them nearly all the time. It seemed
that the celebrated saying of Talleyrand, “Language was only given to man to conceal his thought,” was thoroughly
understood by my seemingly innocent and youthful Fowler's Bay native. When I taxed him with his extraordinary conduct,
he told me the natives had tried to induce him to go with them to their camp, but his natural timidity had deterred him
and saved his life; for they would certainly have killed him if he had gone. After the attack, Tommy said, “I tole you
black fellow coming,” though we did not recollect that he had done so. The spy who had fastened on to me got away in an
opposite direction to that taken by the defeated army. The other spy and the girl remained some little time after the
action, and no one saw them depart, although we became at last aware of their absence. We kept watch during the night,
as a precaution after such an attack, although I had not instituted watching previously. There was a dead silence in
the direction of the enemy's encampment, and no sounds but those of our camel-bells disturbed the stillness of the
luminous and lunar night.

On the following morning, at earliest dawn, the screams and howls of a number of the aborigines grated harshly upon
our ears, and we expected and prepared for a fresh attack. The cries continued for some time, but did not approach any
nearer. After breakfast, the little girl and her protector, the quietest of the two spies, made their appearance at the
camp as composedly as though nothing disagreeable had occurred to mar our friendship, but my personal antagonist did
not reappear — he probably had a headache which kept him indoors. I had given the girl a shirt when she first came to
the camp, and Peter Nicholls had given her protector an old coat, which was rather an elongated affair; on their
arrival this morning, these graceful garments had been exchanged, and the girl appeared in the coat, trailing two feet
on the ground, and the man wore the shirt, which scarcely adorned him enough. I gave them some breakfast and they went
away, but returned very punctually to dinner. Then I determined not to allow them to remain any longer near us, so
ordered them off, and they departed, apparently very reluctantly. I felt very much inclined to keep the little girl.
Although no doubt they still continued watching us, we saw them no more.

I got Mr. Young to plant various seeds round this well. No doubt there must be other waters in this neighbourhood,
as none of the natives have used our well since we came, but we could not find any other.

The following day was Sunday. What a scene our camp would have presented to-day had these reptiles murdered us! It
does not strike the traveller in the wilderness, amongst desert scenes and hostile Indians, as necessary that he should
desire the neighbourhood of a temple, or even be in a continual state of prayer, yet we worship Nature, or the God of
Nature, in our own way; and although we have no chapel or church to go to, yet we are always in a temple, which a
Scottish poet has so beautifully described as “The Temple of Nature.” He says:—

“Talk not of temples; there is one,

Built without hands, to mankind given;

Its lamps are the meridian sun,

And the bright stars of heaven.

Its walls are the cerulean sky,

Its floor the earth so green and fair;

Its dome is vast immensity:

All nature worships there.”

We, of a surety, have none of the grander features of Nature to admire; but the same Almighty Power which smote out
the vast Andean Ranges yet untrod, has left traces of its handywork here. Even the great desert in which we have so
long been buried must suggest to the reflecting mind either God's perfectly effected purpose, or His purposely effected
neglect; and, though I have here and there found places where scanty supplies of the element of water were to be found,
yet they are at such enormous distances apart, and the regions in which they exist are of so utterly worthless a kind,
that it seems to be intended by the great Creator that civilised beings should never re-enter here. And then our
thoughts must naturally wander to the formation and creation of those mighty ships of the desert, that alone could have
brought us here, and by whose strength and incomprehensible powers of endurance, only are we enabled to leave this
desert behind. In our admiration of the creature, our thoughts are uplifted in reverence and worship to the Designer
and Creator of such things, adapted, no doubt, by a wise selection from an infinite variety of living forms, for
myriads of creative periods, and with a foreknowledge that such instruments would be requisite for the intelligent
beings of a future time, to traverse those areas of the desert earth that it had pleased Him in wisdom to permit to
remain secluded from the more lovely places of the world and the familiar haunts of civilised man. Here, too, we find
in this fearful waste, this howling wilderness, this country vast and desert idle, places scooped out of the solid
rock, and the mighty foundations of the round world laid bare, that the lower organism of God's human family may find
their proper sustenance; but truly the curse must have gone forth more fearfully against them, and with a vengeance
must it have been proclaimed, by the sweat of their brows must they obtain their bread. No doubt it was with the
intention of obtaining ours, thus reaping the harvest of unfurrowed fields, that these natives were induced to make so
murderous an attack upon us. We neither saw nor heard anything more of our sable enemies, and on the 18th we departed
out of their coasts. This watering place, Ularring, is situated in latitude 29° 35´, and longitude 120° 31´ 4´´.

Chapter 4.4. From 18th October to 18th November, 1875.

Depart from Ularring. Re-enter scrubs. Scrubs more dense. A known point. Magnetic rocks. Lowans'
eggs. Numbers of the birds. Crows, hawks. Natives and water. Induce natives to decamp. Unusually vigorous growth of
scrubs. Alec sights Mount Churchman. Bronze-winged pigeons. Pigeon Rocks. Depart. Edge of a cliff. Mount Churchman in
view. Some natives arrive. A wandering pet. Lake Moore. Rock-holes. Strike old dray tracks. An outlying sheep-station.
The first white man seen. Dinner of mutton. Exploring at an end. Civilisation once more. Tootra. All sorts and
conditions come to interview us. A monastery. A feu-de-joie. The first telegraph station. Congratulatory messages.
Intimations of receptions. A triumphal march. Messrs. Clunes Brothers. An address. Culham. White ladies. Newcastle. A
triumphal arch. A fine tonic. Tommy's speech. Unscientific profanity. Guildford on the Swan. Arrival at Perth.
Reception by the Mayor. The city decorated. Arrival at the Town Hall. A shower of garlands. A beautiful address. A
public reception at Fremantle. Return to Perth. And festivities. Remarks.

Forcing a Passage Through the Scrubs in Western Australia.

On the 18th we departed. Mount Churchman was now not much more than 150 miles away. I felt sure we should reach it
at last. It was late in the day when we left the camp, and immediately re-entered the dense and odious scrubs, which
were more than usually thick. We passed a small salt-lake bed on our right, and made good twenty miles by night, which
fell with cold and wind and threatened rain. At three or four miles the next morning, we saw some bare granite rocks to
the south, and noticed the tops of some low ranges to the north, but these were partially hidden by some nearer ridges.
The summit of one of these was a mass of exposed rock, similar in appearance to Ularring and remarkably high, but as it
was five or six miles away from our line, which was now nearly west, we did not visit it. At fifteen miles from camp we
sighted from the top of an undulation in the scrub, a pointed hill a little south of west, also another higher and
longer, and lying more southerly. We could not reach the pointed hill by night. The country is now more densely scrubby
than ever, and although we toiled the whole day, we only made good twenty-four miles. Upon nearing the hill the
following morning we saw some grass-trees and passed between two salt-lakes. At ten miles Mr. Young and I were upon the
top of the hill; the scrubs surrounding it were so terribly thick that I thought we should have to chop our way through
them, and we had the greatest difficulty in getting the caravan to move along at all. I was much surprised at the view
I obtained here; in the first place as we were now gradually approaching Mount Churchman, the hill to the south was, or
should have been, Mount Jackson, but according to my chart there were no hills visible in any easterly or northeasterly
direction from Mount Jackson, whereas from the range to the south, not only the hill I was upon, but all the others in
various directions, must also have been seen from it. This was rather puzzling, and the only way I could account for
the anomaly was that either Gregory had never ascended Mount Jackson at all, though according to his map he calls the
whole eastern country beyond it sand plains, or these hills have been thrown up since 1846. The latter I cannot
believe. The composition of this hill was almost iron itself, and there were some fused stones like volcanic slag upon
it. It was too magnetic for working angles with a compass; it was between 500 and 600 feet above the surrounding
regions. The horizon from east, north-east, round by north, thence to the west and south, was bounded by low ranges,
detached into seven groups; the white beds of small lakes were visible running up to the northern, or north eastern
group, the intervening country being, as usual, all scrubs, which grew even to the summits of the hills. The view from
this hill was enough to terrify the spectator; my only consolation in gazing at so desolate a scene, was that my task
was nearly accomplished, and nothing should stop me now. A second pointed hill lay nearly west, and we pushed on to
this, but could not reach it by night.

To-day we managed to get thirty-four Lowans' eggs, yesterday we had secured twenty-seven. These birds swarm in these
scrubs, and their eggs form a principal item in the daily fare of the natives during the laying season. We seldom see
the birds, but so long as we get the eggs I suppose we have no great cause of complaint. In the morning we reached and
ascended the second hill. Some other hills a few miles away ended nearly west, and bare granite rocks appeared a few
miles beyond them, which I determined to visit. This hill was of similar formation to the last-described. The far
horizon to the west being all scrub, Mount Churchman should have been visible, but it was not. The sight of the country
from any of these hills is truly frightful; it seemed as though the scrubs were to end only with our journey. On
descending, we pushed on for the rocks, and reached them in twelve miles from the last camp. As we neared them, we
could distinguish a large extent of bare rock, and it seemed likely that we should find water, as we saw a number of
crows and hawks, and we soon became aware of the presence of natives also, for they began to yell so soon as they
perceived our approach. A well was soon found, and our camp fixed beside it. The natives were numerous here, but
whether they were our old enemies or not I could not say; yet I fancied I recognised one or two among them, and to let
them see that our ammunition was not yet exhausted, I fired my rifle in the air. This had the effect of inducing them,
whether friends or foes, to decamp, and we were not troubled with them while we were here. I did not wish for a
repetition of the Ularring affair. The well was shallow, with a good supply of water, and there were a few scores of
acres of open ground around the rocks, though the scrubs came as close as possible. This spot was seventy-seven miles
from Ularring; our well was situated at what may be called the north-east corner of these rocks; at the south-west end
there is another and larger valley, where I saw two wells. On Sunday, the 22nd of October, we rested here. The old lame
cow is still very bad, I am afraid she cannot travel much farther. Yesterday and to-day were rather warm, the
thermometer indicating 94 and 96° in the shade. The upheaval of the few hills we have lately passed seems to have
induced an unusually vigorous growth of scrubs, for they are now denser and more hideous than ever.

Alec Ross stated that he had seen, from the last hill, another, far away, due west, but nobody else saw it. If such
a hill exists it is over eighty miles away from where seen, and it must be Mount Churchman. No views to any distance
could be had from these rocks, as the undulations of the scrubs occur continuously throughout the desert, at almost
regular intervals of a few miles, from seven to twenty.

After dinner on the 23rd I had intended to leave this place, but upon mustering the camels I found that not only was
the lame cow worse, but another of the cows had calved, and our family was increased by the advent of a little cow-calf
about the size of a rabbit. This prevented our departure. The calf was killed, and the mother remained with her dead
offspring, whereby she comprehended her loss, and this will prevent her endeavouring to return to it after we leave. We
obtained a good many bronze-winged pigeons here, and I called the place the Pigeon Rocks. Their position is in latitude
29° 58´ 4´´ and longitude 119° 15´ 3´´. To-day the thermometer rose to 100° in the shade, and at night a very squally
thunderstorm, coming from the west, agreeably cooled the atmosphere, although no rain fell. On the 24th we left the
Pigeon Rocks, still steering west, and travelled twenty-five miles through the dense scrubs, with an occasional break,
on which a few of the yellow-bark gum-trees grew. They are generally of a vigorous and well grown habit. The poor old
lame cow followed as usual, but arrived at the camp a long while after us. The next day we progressed twenty-five miles
to the westward, and at evening we tore through a piece of horrible scrub, or thickets, and arrived at the edge of a
cliff which stood, perpendicularly, 200 feet over the surrounding country. This we had to circumnavigate in order to
descend.

Right on our course, being in the proper latitude, and twenty-seven or twenty-eight miles away, was a small hill,
the object I had traversed so many hundreds of miles of desert to reach, and which I was delighted to know, was Mount
Churchman. The country between the cliff and Mount Churchman was filled to overflowing with the densest of scrubs;
Nature seemed to have tried how much of it she could possibly jam into this region. We encamped at the foot of the
cliff. We got several Lowans'— or, as the West Australians call them, Gnows'— eggs, thirty yesterday, and forty-five
to-day. At night the old lame cow did not arrive at the camp, nor was she with the mob the next morning; I wished her
to remain at the Pigeon Rocks, but of course she persisted in following her kindred so long as she could, but now she
has remained behind of her own accord, she will no doubt return there, and if she recovers will most probably go back
to Beltana by herself, perhaps exploring a new line of country on the way.

First View of Mt. Churchman.

The following day we hoped to reach Mount Churchman, but the scrubs were so frightful we could not get there by
night, though we travelled without stopping for twelve hours. To-day we got only twenty eggs. To-night and last night a
slight dew fell, the first for a long time. Early on the morning of the 27th of October I stood upon the summit of
Mount Churchman; and, though no mention whatever is made upon the chart of the existence of water there, we found a
native well which supplied all our wants. In the afternoon some natives made their appearance; they were partly
clothed. The party consisted of an oldish man, a very smart and good-looking young fellow, and a handsome little boy.
The young fellow said his own name was Charlie, the boy's Albert, and the older one's Billy. It is said a good face is
the best letter of introduction, but Charlie had a better one, as I had lost a little ivory-handled penknife on the
road yesterday, and they had come across, and followed our tracks, and picked it up. Charlie, without a moment's
questioning, brought it to me; he was too polite, too agreeable altogether, and evidently knew too much; he knew the
country all the way to Perth, and also to Champion Bay. It occurred to me that he had been somebody's pet black boy,
that had done something, and had bolted away. He told me the nearest station to us was called Nyngham, Mount Singleton
on the chart, in a north-west direction. The station belonged, he said, to a Mr. Cook, and that we could reach it in
four days, but as I wished to make south-westerly for Perth, I did not go that way. The day was very warm, thermometer
99° in shade.

The First White Man Met in Western Australia.

This mount is called Geelabing on the chart, but Charlie did not know it by that name. He and the other two came on
and camped with us that night. Our course was nearly south-west; we only travelled eleven miles. The following day our
three friends departed, as they said, to visit Nyngham, while we pursued our own course, and reached the shores of the
dry salt-lake Moore. In about thirty miles we found some rock water-holes, and encamped on the edge of the lake, where
we saw old horse and cattle tracks. We next crossed the lake-bed, which was seven miles wide. No doubt there is brine
in some parts of it, but where I crossed it was firm and dry. We left it on the 30th of October, and travelling upon a
course nearly west-south-west, we struck some old dray tracks, at a dried-up spring, on the 3rd of November, which I
did not follow, as they ran eastwards. From there I turned south, and early on the 4th we came upon an outlying sheep
station; its buildings consisting simply of a few bark-gunyahs. There was not even a single, rude hut in the dingle;
blacks' and whites' gunyahs being all alike. Had I not seen some clothes, cooking utensils, etc., at one of them, I
should have thought that only black shepherds lived there. A shallow well, and whip for raising the water into a
trough, was enclosed by a fence, and we watered our camels there. The sheep and shepherd were away, and although we
were desperately hungry for meat, not having had any for a month, we prepared to wait until the shepherd should come
home in the evening. While we were thinking over these matters, a white man came riding up. He apparently did not see
us, nor did his horse either, until they were quite close; then his horse suddenly stopped and snorted, and he shouted
out, “Holy sailor, what's that?” He was so extraordinarily surprised at the appearance of the caravan that he turned to
gallop away. However, I walked to, and reassured him, and told him who I was and where I had come from. Of course he
was an Irishman, and he said, “Is it South Austhralia yez come from? Shure I came from there meself. Did yez crass any
say? I don't know, sure I came by Albany; I never came the way you've come at all. Shure, I wilcome yez, in the name of
the whole colony. I saw something about yez in the paper not long ago. Can I do anything for yez? This is not my place,
but the shepherd is not far; will I go and find him?” “Faith, you may,” I said, “and get him to bring the flock back,
so that we can get a sheep for dinner.” And away he went, and soon returned with the shepherd, sheep, black assistants
and their wives; and we very soon had a capital meal of excellent mutton. While it was in process of cooking the
shepherd despatched a black boy to the nearest farm, or settlement, for coffee, butter, sugar, eggs, etc. The messenger
returned at night with everything. Exploring had now come to an end; roads led to, and from, all the other settled
districts of the colony, and we were in the neighbourhood of civilisation once more. This out-station was the farthest
attempt at settlement towards the east, in this part of the colony. It was called Tootra, and belonged to the Messrs.
Clunes Brothers, who live lower down the country.

On the 6th of November we passed by the farm where the black boy had got the coffee, sugar, etc.; it belonged to a
Mr. Joyce. We did not stay there very long, the people did not seem to know what to make of, and never said anything
to, us. That evening we reached Mr. Clarke's homestead, called Inderu, where we were treated with the greatest kindness
by every member of the family. They gave us eggs, butter, jam, and spirits, and despatched a messenger with a letter to
Sir Thomas Elder's agent at Fremantle. Here we were also met by young Mr. Lefroy, son of the Hon. O'Grady Lefroy,
Treasurer and acting Colonial Secretary for the Colony, who took us off to his station, Walebing, where we remained
some days, thoroughly enjoying a recruiting at so agreeable a place. We had to depart at last, and were next
entertained by Mr. and Mrs. McPherson, as we passed by their station called Glentromie. So soon as the news spread
amongst the settlers that a caravan of camels had arrived, bushmen and girls, boys and children, came galloping from
all parts, while their elders drove whatever vehicles they could lay their hands on, to come and see the new arrivals.
The camels were quite frightened at the people galloping about them. Our next reception was at a Spanish Benedictine
Monastery and Home for natives, called New Norcia. This Monastery was presided over by the Right Reverend Lord Bishop
Salvado, the kindest and most urbane of holy fathers. We were saluted on our arrival, by a regular feu-de-joie, fired
off by the natives and half-castes belonging to the mission. The land and property of this establishment is some of the
best in the Colony. Here was the first telegraph station we had reached, and I received a number of congratulatory
telegrams from most of the leading gentlemen in Perth; from His Excellency the Governor's private secretary, the Press,
and my brother-explorer Mr. John Forrest.

Arrival at Culham (Samuel Phillips's.)

Intimations of intended receptions, by corporations, and addresses to be presented, with invitations to banquets and
balls, poured in, in overwhelming numbers; so that on leaving the Monastery I knew the series of ordeals that were in
store for me. His Excellency the Governor, Sir William Robinson, K.C.M.G., most kindly despatched Mr. John Forrest with
a carriage to meet us. From the Monastery our triumphal march began. The appearance of a camel caravan in any English
community, away from camel countries, is likely to awaken the curiosity of every one; but it is quite a matter of doubt
whether we, or the camels caused the greater sensation as we advanced. A few miles from the monastery we passed the
station of Messrs. Clunes Brothers, at whose farthest out-station we had first come upon a settlement. These gentlemen
were most kind and hospitable, and would not accept any payment for two fine wether sheep which we had eaten. A short
distance from their residence we passed a district country school-house, presided over by Mr. J.M. Butler, and that
gentleman, on behalf of Messrs. Clunes, the residents of the locality, his scholars, and himself, presented us with a
congratulatory address. Pushing onwards towards the metropolis we arrived, on Saturday, November 13th, at Mr. Samuel
Phillips's station, Culham, where that gentleman invited us to remain during Sunday. Here, for the first time, we had
the pleasure of enjoying the society of ladies, being introduced to Mrs. Phillips, her sister-in-law Mrs. Fane, and
their several daughters. The whole family combined to make us welcome, and as much at home as possible. Here also Mr.
Forrest joined us, and welcomed us to his own native land. The camels were put into an excellent paddock, and enjoyed
themselves almost as much as their masters. Culham is nine or ten miles from Newcastle, the first town site we should
reach. We were invited thither by the Mayor and Council, or rather the Chairman and Council of the Municipality.

At Newcastle we were received under a triumphal arch, and the Chairman presented us with an address. We were then
conducted to a sumptuous banquet. Near the conclusion, the Chairman rose to propose our healths, etc.; he then
gratified us by speaking disparagingly of us and our journey; he said he didn't see what we wanted to come over here
for, that they had plenty of explorers of their own, etc. This was something like getting a hostile native's spear
stuck into one's body, and certainly a fine tonic after the champagne. Several gentlemen in the hall protested against
these remarks. I made a short reply; Mr. Tietkens put a little humour into his, and all coolness wore away, especially
when Tommy made a speech. He was a great favourite with the “General,” and was well looked after during the repast.
When we had all said our say, Tommy was urged to speak; he was very bashful, and said, “I don't know what to say;” the
people near him said, “Never mind, Tommy, say anything;” so he rose in his seat and simply said “Anything,” whereupon
everybody laughed, and joviality was restored. In the evening a ball took place in our honour; the old Chairman went to
bed, and we all danced till morning. Never after did we hear anything but compliments and commendations, as what was
then said was against the sense of the whole Colony. The next town we arrived at was Guildford; on the road the caravan
passed by a splitters' camp, the men there came round the camels, and as usual stared wide-eyed with amazement. One of
them begged Alec Ross, who was conducting the camels, to wait till a mate of theirs who was away returned, so that he
might see them; but as we were bound to time and had our stages arranged so that we should reach Perth by a certain
time, this could not be done, and the camels went on. By-and-by a man came galloping up as near as his horse would come
to the camels, and called out: “Hi there, hold on, you *** wretches; do you think I'd a galloped after yer ter see such
little *** things as them? why, they ain't no bigger nor a *** horse [there were camels seven feet high in the mob];
why, I thought they was as big as *** clouds, or else I'd never a come all this *** way to see them,” etc. He
interspersed this address with many adjectives, but as nobody took the slightest notice of him, he started away,
banning and blaspheming as he went, and for an uneducated, unscientific West Australian, his, was not a bad effort at
profanity.

Arrival at Perth.

Arrival at the Town Hall, Perth, Western Australia.

At Guildford, a town-site on the Swan, we were publicly received by the Mayor, Mr. Spurling, the Town Council,
various bodies and lodges, and a detachment of volunteers. We were presented with addresses from the Town Council, and
Mr. Spurling made a most handsome speech, which removed any remains of the taste of the Newcastle tonic. The Lodges of
Oddfellows and Good Templars also presented us with addresses. The Chairman of the latter made a little Good Templar
capital out of the fact of our having achieved such a great feat entirely on water. To this I replied, that it was true
we had accomplished our journey on water, and very little of it, but that if we had had anything stronger we should
certainly have drunk it, if only to make our water supply last the longer. Then a banquet was spread, which was
attended also by ladies, and was a most agreeable entertainment, and the evening wound up with a ball. Guildford being
only ten or eleven miles from Perth, at about three p.m. of the next day we approached the city, riding our camels, and
having the whole of the caravan in regular desert-marching order. A great number of people came out, both riding and
driving, to meet us, and escorted us into the city; Mr. Forrest was now on horseback and riding alongside of me.

After traversing the long wooden causeway that bridges the Swan, we soon reached the city bounds, and were met by
the Mayor, Mr. George Shenton, and the other members of the City Council, companies of volunteers lined the streets on
either side, and the various bodies of Freemasons, Oddfellows, and Good Templars, accompanied by the brass band of the
latter, took a part in the procession. A great crowd of citizens assembled, and the balconies of the houses on both
sides were thronged with the fair sex, and garlands of flowers were showered down upon us. The streets of the city were
decorated with flags and streamers, and scrolls of welcome were stretched across. The procession moved along to the
Town Hall amidst general cheering. We were ushered into the spacious hall, and placed on a raised platform, then we
were introduced to most of the gentlemen present. The Mayor then addressed me in most eulogistic terms, and presented
me with an address on vellum, beautifully illuminated and engrossed, on behalf of the corporation and citizens of
Perth, congratulating myself, and party on our successful exploration across the unknown interior from South Australia,
and warmly expressing the good feelings of welcome entertained by the citizens towards us.

After this a round of festivities set in; among these were a public banquet and ball in our honour by the Mayor and
Corporation of the city of Perth and a dinner and ball at Government House. A public reception also awaited us at
Fremantle, on the coast. On our arrival at the long, high, wooden structure that spans the broad mouth of the river at
Fremantle, we were again met by eager crowds. Mr. Forrest rode near me on this occasion also. When entering Perth, I
had a great deal of trouble to induce my riding-camel, Reechy, to lead, but when entering Fremantle she fairly jibbed,
and I had to walk and lead her, so that I was hidden in the crowd, and Mr. Tietkens, coming next to me, appeared to be
the leader, as his camel went all right. The balconies and verandahs here were also thronged with ladies, who showered
down heaps of garlands while they cheered. I was completely hidden, and they threw all the flowers down on Tietkens, so
that he got all the honour from the ladies. Here another beautiful address was presented to me by Mr. John Thomas, the
Chairman of the Town Council, and a public banquet was given us. On returning to Perth, we had invitations from private
individuals to balls, dinners, pic-nics, boating and riding parties, and the wife of the Honourable O'Grady Lefroy
started the ball giving immediately after that at Government House. Mr. Forrest gave us a dinner at the Weld Club.

Since our arrival in the settled parts of Western Australia, we have had every reason to believe that our welcome
was a genuine one, everybody having treated us with the greatest kindness and courtesy. His Excellency the Governor
ordered that all our expenses down the country, from where Mr. Forrest met us, should be defrayed by the Government;
and having been so welcomed by the settlers on our arrival at each place, I had no occasion to expend a penny on our
march through the settled districts of the Colony.

In concluding the tale of a long exploration, a few remarks are necessary. In the first place I travelled during the
expedition, in covering the ground, 2500 miles; but unfortunately found no areas of country suitable for settlement.
This was a great disappointment to me, as I had expected far otherwise; but the explorer does not make the country, he
must take it as he finds it. His duty is to penetrate it, and although the greatest honour is awarded and the greatest
recompense given to the discoverer of the finest regions, yet it must be borne in mind, that the difficulties of
traversing those regions cannot be nearly so great as those encountered by the less fortunate traveller who finds
himself surrounded by heartless deserts. The successful penetration of such a region must, nevertheless, have its
value, both in a commercial and a geographical sense, as it points out to the future emigrant or settler, those
portions of our continent which he should rigorously avoid. It never could have entered into any one's calculations
that I should have to force my way through a region that rolls its scrub-enthroned, and fearful distance out, for
hundreds of leagues in billowy undulations, like the waves of a timbered sea, and that the expedition would have to
bore its way, like moles in the earth, for so long, through these interminable scrubs, with nothing to view, and less
to cheer. Our success has traced a long and a dreary road through this unpeopled waste, like that to a lion's abode,
from whence no steps are retraced. The caravan for months was slowly but surely plodding on, under those trees with
which it has pleased Providence to bedeck this desolate waste. But this expedition, as organised, equipped, and
intended by Sir Thomas Elder, was a thing of such excellence and precision, it moved along apparently by mechanical
action; and it seemed to me, as we conquered these frightful deserts by its power, like playing upon some new fine
instrument, as we wandered, like rumour, “from the Orient to the Drooping West,”—

“From where the Torrens wanders,

'Midst corn and vines and flowers,

To where fair Perth still lifts to heaven

Her diadem of towers.”

The labours of the expedition ended only at the sea at Fremantle, the seaport of the west; and after travelling
under those trees for months, from eastern lands through a region accurst, we were greeted at last by old Ocean's roar;
Ocean, the strongest of creation's sons, “that rolls the wild, profound, eternal bass in Nature's anthem.” The
officers, Mr. Tietkens and Mr. Young, except for occasional outbursts of temper, and all the other members of the
expedition, acted in every way so as to give me satisfaction; and when I say that the personnel of the expedition
behaved as well as the camels, I cannot formulate greater praise.

It will readily be believed that I did not undertake a fourth expedition in Australia without a motive. Sir Thomas
Elder had ever been kind to me since I had known him, and my best thanks were due to him for enabling me to accomplish
so difficult an undertaking; but there were others also I wished to please; and I have done my best endeavours upon
this arduous expedition, with the hope that I might “win the wise, who frowned before to smile at last.”

After having crossed the unknown central interior, and having traversed such a terrible region to accomplish that
feat, it might be reasonably supposed that my labours as an explorer would cease, and that I might disband the
expedition and send the members, camels, and equipment back to Adelaide by ship, especially as in my closing remarks on
my last journey I said that I had accomplished the task I had undertaken, and effected the object of my expedition.
This was certainly the case, but I regarded what had been done as only the half of my mission; and I was as anxious now
to complete my work as I had been to commence it, when Sir Thomas Elder started me out. The remaining portion was no
less than the completion of the line I had been compelled to leave unfinished by the untimely loss of Gibson, during my
horse expedition of 1874. My readers will remember that, having pushed out west from my depot at Fort McKellar, in the
Rawlinson Range, I had sighted another line of hills, which I had called the Alfred and Marie Range, and which I had
been unable to reach. It was therefore my present wish and intention to traverse that particular region, and to connect
my present explorations with my former ones with horses. By travelling northwards until I reached the proper latitude,
I might make an eastern line to the Rawlinson Range. That Gibson's Desert existed, well I knew; but how far west from
the Rawlinson it actually extended, was the problem I now wished to solve. As Sir Thomas Elder allowed me carte
blanche, I began a fresh journey with this object. The incidents of that journey this last book will record.

My readers may imagine us enjoying all the gaieties and pleasures such a city as Perth, in Western Australia, could
supply. Myself and two officers were quartered at the Weld Club; Alec Ross and the others had quarters at the United
Service Club Hotel nearly opposite; and taking it altogether, we had very good times indeed. The fountains of champagne
seemed loosened throughout the city during my stay; and the wine merchants became nervous lest the supply of what then
became known as “Elder wine” should get exhausted. I paid a visit down the country southwards, to Bunbury, The Vasse,
and other places of interest in that quarter. Our residence at Perth was extended to two months. Saleh was in his
glory. The camels were out in a paddock, where they did not do very well, as there was only one kind of acacia tree
upon which they could browse. Occasionally Saleh had to take two or three riding camels to Government House, as it
became quite the thing, for a number of young ladies to go there and have a ride on them; and on those days Saleh was
resplendent. On every finger, he wore a ring, he had new, white and coloured, silk and satin, clothes, covered with
gilt braid; two silver watches, one in each side-pocket of his tunic; and two jockey whips, one in each hand. He used
to tell people that he brought the expedition over, and when he went back he was sure Sir Thomas Elder would fit him
out with an expedition of his own. Tommy was quite a young coloured swell, too; he would go about the town, fraternise
with people, treat them to drinks at any hotel, and tell the landlord, when asked for payment, that the liquor was for
the expedition. Every now and again I had little bills presented to me for refreshments supplied to Mr. Oldham. Alec
Ross expended a good deal of his money in making presents to young ladies; and Peter Nicholls was quite a victim to the
fair sex of his class. I managed to escape these terrible dangers, though I can't tell how.

Both my officers left for South Australia by the mail steamer. Mr. Tietkens was the more regretted. I did not wish
him to leave, but he said he had private business to attend to. I did not request Mr. Young to accompany me on my
return journey, so they went to Adelaide together. The remainder of the party stayed until the 13th of January, 1876,
when the caravan departed from Perth on its homeward route to South Australia, having a new line of unexplored country
to traverse before we could reach our goal. My projected route was to lie nearly 400 miles to the north of the one by
which I arrived; and upon leaving Perth we travelled up the country, through the settled districts, to Champion Bay,
and thence to Mount Gould, close to the River Murchison.

Before leaving the city I was invited by the Mayor and Municipality of the town of York, to visit that locality;
this invitation I, of course, accepted, as I was supposed to be out on show. My party now consisted of only four other
members besides myself, namely, young Alec Ross, now promoted to the post of second in command, Peter Nicholls, still
cook, Saleh, and Tommy Oldham. At York we were entertained, upon our arrival, at a dinner. York was a very agreeable
little agricultural town, the next in size to Fremantle. Bushmen, farmers, and country people generally, flocked in
crowds to see both us and the camels. It was amusing to watch them, and to hear the remarks they made. Saleh and Tommy
used to tell the most outrageous yarns about them; how they could travel ten miles an hour with their loads, how they
carried water in their humps, that the cows ate their calves, that the riding bulls would tear their riders' legs off
with their teeth if they couldn't get rid of them in any other way. These yarns were not restricted to York, they were
always going on.

The day after leaving York we passed Mr. Samuel Burgess's establishment, called Tipperary, where we were splendidly
entertained at a dinner, with his brothers and family. The Messrs. Burgess are among the oldest and wealthiest
residents in the Colony. From hence we travelled towards a town-site called Northam, and from thence to Newcastle,
where we were entertained upon our first arrival. A lady in Newcastle, Mrs. Dr. Mayhew, presented me with a pair of
little spotted puppies, male and female, to act for us, as she thought, as watch(ful) guards against the attacks of
hostile natives in the interior. And although they never distinguished themselves very much in that particular line,
the little creatures were often a source of amusement in the camp; and I shall always cherish a feeling of gratitude to
the donor for them.

At ten miles from Newcastle is Culham, the hospitable residence of the well-known and universally respected Squire
Phillips, of an old Oxford family in England, and a very old settler in the Colony of Western Australia. On our arrival
at Culham we were, as we had formerly been, most generously received; and the kindness and hospitality we met, induced
us to remain for some days. When leaving I took young Johnny Phillips with me to give him an insight into the mysteries
of camel travelling, so far as Champion Bay. On our road up the country we met with the greatest hospitality from every
settler, whose establishment the caravan passed. At every station they vied with each other as to who should show us
the greatest kindness. It seems invidious to mention names, and yet it might appear as though I were ungrateful if I
seemed to forget my old friends; for I am a true believer in the dictum, of all black crimes, accurst ingratitude's the
worst. Leaving Culham, we first went a few miles to Mr. Beare's station and residence, whither Squire Phillips
accompanied us. Our next friend was Mr. Butler, at the St. Joseph's schoolhouse, where he had formerly presented me
with an address. Next we came to the Messrs. Clunes, where we remained half an hour to refresh, en route for New
Norcia, the Spanish Catholic Benedictine Monastery presided over by the good Bishop Salvado, and where we remained for
the night; the Bishop welcoming us as cordially as before. Our next halt was at the McPhersons', Glentromie, only four
or five miles from the Mission. Our host here was a fine, hospitable old Scotchman, who has a most valuable and
excellent property. From Glentromie we went to the Hon. O'Grady Lefroy's station, Walebing, where his son, Mr. Henry
Lefroy, welcomed us again as he had done so cordially on our first visit. At every place where we halted, country
people continually came riding and driving in to see the camels, and an amusing incident occurred here. Young Lefroy
had a tidy old housekeeper, who was quite the grande dame amongst the young wives and daughters of the surrounding
farmers. I remained on Sunday, and, as usual, a crowd of people came. The camp was situated 200 yards from the
buildings, and covered a good space of ground, the camels always being curled round into a circle whenever we camped;
the huge bags and leather-covered boxes and pack-saddles filling up most of the space. On this Sunday afternoon a
number of women, and girls, were escorted over by the housekeeper. Alec and I had come to the camp just before them,
and we watched as they came up very slowly and cautiously to the camp. I was on the point of going over to them, and
saying that I was sorry the camels were away feeding, but something Alec Ross said, restrained me, and we waited — the
old housekeeper doing the show. To let the others see how clever she was, she came right up to the loads, the others
following, and said, “Ah, the poor things!” One of the new arrivals said, “Oh, the poor things, how still and quiet
they are,” the girls stretching their necks, and nearly staring their eyes out. Alec and I were choking with laughter,
and I went up and said, “My dear creature, these are not the camels, these are the loads; the camels are away in the
bush, feeding.” The old lady seemed greatly annoyed, while the others, in chorus, said, “Oh, oh! what, ain't those the
camels there?” etc. By that time the old lady had vanished.

Up to this point we had returned upon the road we had formerly travelled to Perth; now we left our old line, and
continued up the telegraph line, and main overland road, from Perth to Champion Bay. Here we shortly entered what in
this Colony is called the Victoria Plains district. I found the whole region covered with thick timber, if not actual
scrubs; here and there was a slight opening covered with a thorny vegetation three or four feet high. It struck me as
being such a queer name, but I subsequently found that in Western Australia a plain means level country, no matter how
densely covered with scrubs; undulating scrubs are thickets, and so on. Several times I was mystified by people telling
me they knew there were plains to the east, which I had found to be all scrubs, with timber twenty to thirty feet high
densely packed on it. The next place we visited, was Mr. James Clinche's establishment at Berkshire Valley, and our
reception there was most enthusiastic. A triumphal arch was erected over the bridge that spanned the creek upon which
the place was located, the arch having scrolls with mottoes waving and flags flying in our honour. Here was feasting
and flaring with a vengeance. Mr. Clinche's hospitality was unbounded. We were pressed to remain a week, or month, or a
year; but we only rested one day, the weather being exceedingly hot. Mr. Clinche had a magnificent flower and fruit
garden, with fruit-trees of many kinds en espalier; these, he said, throve remarkably well. Mr. Clinche persisted in
making me take away several bottles of fluid, whose contents need not be specifically particularised. Formerly the
sandal-wood-tree of commerce abounded all over the settled districts of Western Australia. Merchants and others in
Perth, Fremantle, York, and other places, were buyers for any quantity. At his place Mr. Clinche had a huge stack of I
know not how many hundred tons. He informed me he usually paid about eight pounds sterling per measurement ton. The
markets were London, Hong Kong, and Calcutta. A very profitable trade for many years was carried on in this article;
the supply is now very limited.

There was a great deal of the poison-plant all over this country, not the Gyrostemon, but a sheep-poisoning plant of
the Gastrolobium family; and I was always in a state of anxiety for fear the camels should eat any of it. The shepherds
in this Colony, whose flocks are generally not larger than 500, are supposed to know every individual poison-plant on
their beat, and to keep their sheep off it; but with us, it was all chance work, for we couldn't tie the camels up
every night, and we could not control them in what they should eat. Our next friends were a brother of the McPherson at
Glentromie and his wife. The name of this property was Cornamah; there was a telegraph station at this place. Both here
and at Berkshire Valley Mrs. McPherson and Miss Clinche are the operators. Next to this, we reached Mr. Cook's station,
called Arrino, where Mrs. Cook is telegraph mistress. Mr. Cook we had met at New Norcia, on his way down to Perth. We
had lunch at Arrino, and Mrs. Cook gave me a sheep. I had, however, taken it out of one of their flocks the night
before, as we camped with some black shepherds and shepherdesses, who were very pleased to see the camels, and called
them emus, a name that nearly all the West Australian natives gave them.

After leaving Arrino we met Mr. Brooklyn and Mr. King, two Government surveyors, at whose camp we rested a day. The
heat was excessive, the thermometer during that day going up 115° in the shade. The following day we reached a farm
belonging to Mr. Goodwin, where we had a drink of beer all round. That evening we reached an establishment called Irwin
House, on the Irwin River, formerly the residence of Mr. Lock Burgess, who was in partnership there with Squire
Phillips. Mr. Burgess having gone to England, the property was leased to Mr. Fane, where we again met Mrs. Fane and her
daughters, whom we had first met at Culham. This is a fine cattle run and farming property. From thence we went to
Dongarra, a town-site also on the Irwin. On reaching this river, we found ourselves in one of the principal
agricultural districts of Western Australia, and at Dongarra we were met by a number of the gentlemen of the district,
and an address was presented to me by Mr. Laurence, the Resident Magistrate. After leaving Dongarra, we were
entertained at his house by Mr. Bell; and here we met a French gentleman of a strong Irish descent, with fine white
eyes and a thick shock head, of red hair; he gazed intently both at us and the camels. I don't know which he thought
the more uncouth of the two kinds of beasts. At last he found sufficient English to say, “Do dem tings goo faar in a
deayah, ehah?” When he sat down to dinner with us, he put his mutton chop on his hand, which he rested on his plate.
The latter seemed to be quite an unknown article of furniture to him, and yet I was told his father was very well to
do.

The next town-site we reached was the Greenough — pronounced Greenuff — Flats, being in another very excellent
agricultural district; here another address was presented to me, and we were entertained at an excellent lunch. As
usual, great numbers of people came to inspect us, and the camels, the latter laying down with their loads on previous
to being let go. Often, when strangers would come too near, some of the more timid camels would jump up instantly, and
the people not being on their guard, would often have torn faces and bleeding noses before they could get out of the
way. On this occasion a tall, gaunt man and his wife, I supposed, were gazing at Tommy's riding camel as she carried
the two little dogs in bags, one on each side. Tommy was standing near, trying to make her jump up, but she was too
quiet, and preferred lying down. Any how, Tommy would have his joke — so, as the man who was gazing most intently at
the pups said, “What's them things, young man?” he replied, “Oh, that's hee's pickaninnies”— sex having no more
existence in a black boy's vocabulary than in a highlander's. Then the tall man said to the wife, “Oh, lord, look yer,
see how they carries their young.” Only the pup's heads appeared, a string round the neck keeping them in; “but they
looks like dogs too, don't they?” With that he put his huge face down, so as to gaze more intently at them, when the
little dog, who had been teased a good deal and had got snappish, gave a growl and snapped at his nose. The secret was
out; with a withering glance at Tommy and the camels, he silently walked away — the lady following.

All the riding camels and most of the pet baggage camels were passionately fond of bread. I always put a piece under
the flap of my saddle, and so soon as Reechy came to the camp of a morning, she would come and lie down by it, and root
about till she found it. Lots of the people, especially boys and children, mostly brought their lunch, as coming to see
the camels was quite a holiday affair, and whenever they incautiously began to eat in the camp, half a dozen camels
would try to take the food from them. One cunning old camel called Cocky, a huge beast, whose hump was over seven feet
from the ground, with his head high up in the air, and pretending not to notice anything of the kind, would sidle
slowly up towards any people who were eating, and swooping his long neck down, with his soft tumid lips would take the
food out of their mouths or hands — to their utter astonishment and dismay. Another source of amusement with us was,
when any man wanted to have a ride, we always put him on Peter Nicholls's camel, then he was led for a certain distance
from the camp, when the rider was asked whether he was all right? He was sure to say, “Yes.” “Well, then, take the
reins,” we would say; and so soon as the camel found himself free, he would set to work and buck and gallop back to the
camp; in nine cases out of ten the rider fell off, and those who didn't never wished to get on any more. With the young
ladies we met on our journeys through the settled districts, I took care that no accidents should happen, and always
gave them Reechy or Alec's cow Buzoe. At the Greenough, a ball was given in the evening. (I should surely be forgetting
myself were I to omit to mention our kind friend, Mr. Maley, the miller at Greenough, who took us to his house, gave us
a lunch, and literally flooded us with champagne.) We were now only a short distance from Champion Bay, the town-site
being called Geraldton; it was the 16th February when we reached it. Outside the town we were met by a number of
gentlemen on horseback, and were escorted into it by them.

On arrival we were invited to a lunch. Champion Bay, or rather Geraldton, is the thriving centre of what is, for
Western Australia, a large agricultural and pastoral district. It is the most busy and bustling place I have seen on
this side of the continent. It is situated upon the western coast of Australia, in latitude 28° 40´ and longitude 114°
42´ 30´´, lying about north-north-west from Perth, and distant 250 miles in a straight line, although to reach it by
land more than 300 miles have to be traversed. I delayed in the neighbourhood of Geraldton for the arrival of the
English and Colonial mails, at the hospitable encampment of Mr. James Palmer, a gentleman from Melbourne, who was
contractor for the first line of railway, from Champion Bay to Northampton, ever undertaken in Western Australia.

While we delayed here, Mr. Tietkens's fine young riding bull got poisoned, and though we did everything we possibly
could for him, he first went cranky, and subsequently died. I was very much grieved; he was such a splendid hack, and
so quiet and kind; I greatly deplored his loss. The only substance I could find that he had eaten was Gyrostemon, there
being plenty of it here. Upon leaving Mr. Palmer's camp we next visited a station called the Bowes — being on the Bowes
Creek, and belonging to Mr. Thomas Burgess, whose father entertained us so well at Tipperary, near York. Mr. Burgess
and his wife most cordially welcomed us. This was a most delightful place, and so homelike; it was with regret that I
left it behind, Mrs. Burgess being the last white lady I might ever see.

Mr. Burgess had another station called Yuin, about 115 miles easterly from here, and where his nephews, the two
Messrs. Wittenoom, resided. They also have a station lying north-east by north called Cheangwa. On the fifth day from
the Bowes we reached Yuin. The country was in a very dry state. All the stock had been removed to Cheangwa, where rains
had fallen, and grass existed in abundance. At Yuin Mr. Burgess had just completed the erection of, I should say, the
largest wool-shed in the Colony. The waters on the station consist of shallow wells and springs all over it. It is
situated up the Greenough River. Before reaching Cheangwa I met the elder of the two Wittenooms, whom I had previously
known in Melbourne; his younger brother was expected back from a trip to the north and east, where he had gone to look
for new pastoral runs. When he returned, he told us he had not only been very successful in that way, but had succeeded
in capturing a native desperado, against whom a warrant was out, and who had robbed some shepherds' huts, and speared,
if not killed, a shepherd in their employ. Mr. Frank Wittenoom was leading this individual alongside of his horse,
intending to take him to Geraldton to be dealt with by the police magistrate there. But O, tempora mutantur! One fine
night, when apparently chained fast to a verandah post, the fellow managed to slip out of his shackles, quietly walked
away, and left his fetters behind him, to the unbounded mortification of his captor, who looked unutterable things, and
though he did not say much, he probably thought the more. This escape occurred at Yuin, to which place I had returned
with Mr. E. Wittenoom, to await the arrival of Mr. Burgess. When we were all conversing in the house, and discussing
some excellent sauterne, the opportunity for his successful attempt was seized by the prisoner. He effected his escape
through the good offices of a confederate friend, a civilised young black fellow, who pretended he wanted his hair cut,
and got a pair of sheep shears from Mr. Wittenoom during the day for that apparent purpose, saying that the captive
would cut it for him. Of course the shears were not returned, and at night the captive or his friend used them to prise
open a split link of the chain which secured him, and away he went as free as a bird in the air.

I had Mr. Burgess's and Mr. Wittenoom's company to Cheangwa, and on arrival there my party had everything ready for
a start. We arranged for a final meeting with our kind friends at a spring called Pia, at the far northern end of Mr.
Wittenoom's run. A great number of natives were assembled round Cheangwa: this is always the case at all frontier
stations, in the Australian squatting bush. Some of the girls and young women were exceedingly pretty; the men were not
so attractive, but the boys were good-looking youngsters. The young ladies were exceedingly talkative; they called the
camels emus, or, as they pronounced it, immu. Several of these girls declared their intention of coming with us. There
were Annies, and Lizzies, Lauras, and Kittys, and Judys, by the dozen. One interesting young person in undress uniform
came up to me and said, “This is Judy, I am Judy; you Melbourne walk? me Melbourne walk too!” I said, “Oh, all right,
my dear;” to this she replied, “Then you'll have to gib me dress.” I gave her a shirt.

When we left Cheangwa a number of the natives persisted in following us, and though we outpaced them in travelling,
they stopping to hunt on the way, they found their way to the camp after us. By some of the men and boys we were led to
a water-hole of some length, called Cooerminga, about eleven miles nearly north from Cheangwa. As the day was very
warm, we and the natives all indulged promiscuously in the luxury of swimming, diving, and splashing about in all
directions. It might be said that:—

“By yon mossy boulder, see an ebony shoulder,

Dazzling the beholder, rises o'er the blue;

But a moment's thinking, sends the Naiad sinking,

With a modest shrinking, from the gazer's view.”

The day after we crossed the dry channel of what is called the River Sandford, and at two or three miles beyond it,
we were shown another water called Moodilah, six miles from our last night's encampment. We were so hampered with the
girls that we did not travel very rapidly over this part of the continent. Moodilah lay a little to the east of north
from Cooerminga; Barloweerie Peak bore north 37° west from camp, the latitude of which was 27° 11´ 8´´. On Saturday,
the 8th of April, we went nearly north to Pia Spring, where the following day we met for the last time, Messrs. Burgess
and Wittenoom. We had some bottles of champagne cooling in canvas water-buckets, and we had an excellent lunch. The
girls still remained with us, and if we liked we might have stayed to “sit with these dark Orianas in groves by the
murmuring sea.”

On Sunday, the 9th of April, we all remained in peace, if not happiness, at Pia Spring; its position is in latitude
27° 7´ and longitude 116° 30´. The days were still very hot, and as the country produced no umbrageous trees, we had to
erect awnings with tarpaulins to enable us to rest in comfort, the thermometer in the shade indicating 100°. Pia is a
small granite rock-hole or basin, which contains no great supply of water, but seems to be permanently supplied by
springs from below. From here Mount Murchison, near the eastern bank of the River Murchison, bore north 73° east,
twenty-three or twenty-four miles away, and Barloweerie, behind us, bore south 48° west, eight miles.

Farewell to Western Australia.

The country belonging to Mr. Burgess and the Messrs. Wittenoom Brothers appeared to me the best and most extensive
pastoral property I had seen in Western Australia. Water is obtained in wells and springs all over the country, at a
depth of four or five feet; there are, besides, many long standing pools of rain-water on the runs. Mr. Burgess told me
of a water-hole in a creek, called Natta, nine or ten miles off, where I intend to go next. On Monday, the 10th of
April, we bade farewell to our two kind friends, the last white men we should see. We finished the champagne, and
parted.

Chapter 5.2. From 10th April to 7th May, 1876.

The natives continue with us. Natta water-hole. Myriads of flies. Alec returns to Cheangwa. Bashful
Tommy. Cowra man. Native customs and rites. Red granite mounds. Loads carried by women. Laura and Tommy. “Cowra”
remains. Pretty amphitheatre. Mount Hale range. Flooded grassy flat. Clianthus or desert pea. Natives show us water.
New acquaintances. Tell-tale fat. Timber of the Murchison. A waterhole. Fine vegetation. Mount Gould and Mount Hale. A
new tribe of natives. Melbourne. Pretty girls brought to the camp. A picturesque place. Plague of flies. Angels' faces.
Peterman. Ascend Mount Gould. A high peak. Country beautifully green. Natives less friendly. Leave Mount Gould. Saleh's
ponds. Mount Labouchere. Sandal-wood-trees. Native well in a thicket. An Australian scene. The Valley of the Gascoyne.
Beautiful trees. A fire-brand. Stony pass. Native orange. A second anniversary. Ascent of the peak. Severe country for
camels' feet. Grassy plain. The Lyon's river. Native fires. Another anniversary. A new watercourse. A turkey bustard.
An extraordinary scene. Remarks upon the country.

The harem elected to continue with us. Natta was reached in about nine miles, north-east by north from Pia. On the
way we passed some excellent and occasionally flooded country, and saw some sheets of rain-water on which were numerous
ducks, but our sportsmen were not so fortunate as to bag any, the birds being so exceedingly shy. I got a few
afterwards, when we reached Natta. The thermometer to-day, 96°. The country was beautifully green, and the camels
beginning to show great signs of improvement. The only drawbacks to our enjoyments were the myriads of flies by day and
mosquitoes at night. It now turned out that Alec Ross had forgotten something, that he wanted at Cheangwa, and we
waited here until he returned. During his absence we actually got enough ducks to give us all a most excellent dinner,
and some to spare for the girls, who left all the hunting to the men and boys, and remained very comfortably in the
camp. Peter Nicholls was quite in his glory among them. Tommy, being a very good-looking boy, was an object of great
admiration to a good many of them; but he was so bashful he wouldn't even talk to them, though they tried very hard to
make love to him. Alec having returned, we left Natta on the 14th, and went about north-east by east, to a small
brackish water in a little creek channel, which we reached in about fifteen miles. Here our native escort was increased
by the arrival of a young black gentleman, most beautifully dressed in fat and red ochre, with many extraordinary white
marks or figures all over his back; we were informed that he was a “cowra man.” I had heard this expression before, and
it seems it is a custom with the natives of this part of the country, like those of Fowler's and Streaky Bays on the
south coast, to subject the youths of the tribe to a mutilating operation. After this they are eligible for marriage,
but for a certain time, until the wounds heal, they are compelled to absent themselves from the society of women. They
go about the country solitary and wretched, and continually utter a short, sharp “cowra cry” to warn all other men to
keep their women away, until the time of their probation is over. Married men occasionally go on “cowra” also, but for
what reason, I do not know. The time of our new arrival, it appeared, was just up, and he seemed very glad indeed of
it, for he was evidently quite a society young man, and probably belonged to one of the first families. He talked as
though he knew the country in advance for hundreds of miles, and told us he intended to come with us.

The country we were now passing through was all covered with low timber, if indeed the West Australian term of
thicket was not more applicable. There was plenty of grass, but as a rule the region was poor; no views could be had
for any distance. I was desirous of making my way to, or near to, Mount Hale, on the Murchison River. None of our
natives knew any feature beyond, by its European name. A low line of hills ran along westerly, and a few isolated
patches of granite hills occurred occasionally to the east of our line of march. We reached a chain of little creeks or
watercourses, and on the 15th camped at a small water-hole in latitude 26° 46´, and longitude about 116° 57´. From
hence we entered thickets, and arrived at the foot of some red granite mounds, where our cowra man said there was
plenty of water in a rock-hole. It turned out, however, as is usually the case with these persons, that the information
was not in strict accordance with the truth, for the receptacle he showed us was exceedingly small, and the supply of
water which it contained was exceedingly smaller.

Mount Murchison bore south 14° west; the latitude of the camp at these rocks was 26° 36´ 8´´. A lot of stony hills
lay in front of us to the north. Our Cheangwa natives, like the poor, were always with us, although I was anxious to
get rid of them; they were too much of a good thing; like a Portuguese devil, when he's good he's too good. Here I
thought it advisable to try to induce them to return. A good many of the girls really cried; however, by the promise of
some presents of flour, tea, sugar, shirts, tobacco, red handkerchiefs, looking glasses, etc., we managed to dry their
tears. It seemed that our little friends had now nearly reached the boundary of their territories, and some of the men
wanted to go back, perhaps for fear of meeting some members of hostile tribes beyond; and though the men do
occasionally go beyond their own districts, they never let the women go if they can help it; but the women being under
our protection, didn't care where they went. Many of them told me they would have gone, perhaps not in such poetic
phrase as is found in Lallah Rookh, east, west — alas! I care not whither, so thou art safe and I with thee. It was,
however, now agreed that they should return. The weight of the loads some of these slim-figured girls and young wives
carried, mostly on their heads, was astonishing, especially when a good-sized child was perched astride on their
shoulders as well. The men, of course, carried nothing but a few spears and sticks; they would generally stay behind to
hunt or dig out game, and when obtained, leave it for the lubras or women to bring on, some of the women following
their footsteps for that purpose.

The prettiest of these girls, or at least the one I thought the prettiest, was named Laura; she was a married young
lady with one child. They were to depart on the morrow. At about eleven or twelve o'clock that night, Laura came to
where my bed was fixed, and asked me to take her to see Tommy, this being her last opportunity. “You little viper,” I
was going to say, but I jumped up and led her quietly across the camp to where Tommy was fast asleep. I woke him up and
said, “Here, Tommy, here's Laura come to say ‘good-bye’ to you, and she wants to give you a kiss.” To this the
uncultivated young cub replied, rubbing his eyes, “I don't want to kiss him, let him kiss himself!” What was gender, to
a fiend like this? and how was poor Laura to be consoled?

Our cowra and a friend of his, evidently did not intend to leave us just yet; indeed, Mr. C. gave me to understand,
that whithersoever I went, he would go; where I lodged, he would lodge; that my people should be his people; I suppose
my God would be good enough for him; and that he would walk with me to Melbourne. Melbourne was the only word they
seemed to have, to indicate a locality remote. Our course from these rocks was nearly north, and we got into three very
pretty circular spaces or amphitheatres; round these several many-coloured and plant-festooned granite hills were
placed. Round the foot of the right-hand hills, between the first and second amphitheatre, going northerly, Mr. C.
showed us three or four rock water-holes, some of which, though not very large in circumference, were pretty deep, and
held more than sufficient for double my number of camels. Here we outspanned for an hour and had some dinner, much to
the satisfaction of our now, only two attendants; we had come about six miles. From a hill just above where we dined, I
sighted a range to the north, and took it to be part of the Mount Hale Range; Mount Hale itself lying more easterly,
was hidden by some other hills just in front. After dinner we proceeded through, or across, the third amphitheatre, the
range in front appearing thirty to forty miles away. That night we encamped in a thicket, having travelled only sixteen
or seventeen miles. In a few miles, on the following day, we came on to a line of white or flood gum-trees, and thought
there was a river or creek ahead of us; but it proved only a grassy flat, with the gum-trees growing promiscuously upon
it. A profusion of the beautiful Sturt, or desert-pea, or Clianthus Dampierii, grew upon this flat. A few low, red
granite hills to the north seemed to form the bank or edge of a kind of valley, and before reaching them, we struck a
salt watercourse, in which our two satellites discovered, or probably knew of before, a fresh waterhole in rock and
sand in the channel of the creek, with plenty of water in, where we encamped. The day was exceedingly hot, and though
near the end of the hot months, our continued northerly progress made us painfully aware that we were still in the
region of “sere woodlands and sad wildernesses, where, with fire, and fierce drought, on her tresses, insatiable summer
oppresses.” Our latitude here was 26° 14´ 50´´.

Immediately upon arrival, our cowra man and his friend seemed aware of the presence of other natives in the
neighbourhood, and began to make signal smokes to induce their countrymen to approach. This they very soon did,
heralding their advent with loud calls and cries, which our two answered. Although I could not actually translate what
the jabber was all about, I am sure it was a continual question as to our respectability, and whether we were fit and
presentable enough to be introduced into their ladies' society. The preliminaries and doubts, however, seemed at last
to be overcome, and the natives then made their appearance. With them came also several of their young women, who were
remarkably good-looking, and as plump as partridges; but they were a bit skeery, and evidently almost as wild as wild
dogs. Our two semi-civilised barbarians induced them to come nearer, however, and apparently spoke very favourably
about us, so that they soon became sociable and talkative. They were not very much dressed, their garments being
composed of a very supple, dark kind of skin and hair, which was so thickly smeared over with fat and red ochre, that
if any one attempted to hold them, it left a tell-tale mark of red fat all over their unthinking admirers. The
following day they wanted to accompany us, but I would not permit this, and they departed; at least, we departed, and
with us came two men, who would take no denial, or notice of my injunction, but kept creeping up after us every now and
then. Our cowra led us by evening to a small — very small, indeed — rock-hole, in which there was scarcely sufficient
water for our four followers. It took me considerably out of my road to reach it, and I was greatly disgusted when I
did so. It lay nearly north-west by west from the last camp, and was in latitude 26° 7´ 9´´. Mount Hale now bore a
little to the north of east from us, and the timber of the Murchison could be seen for the first time from some hills
near the camp.

I now steered nearly north-east, for about fifteen miles, until we struck the river. The country here consisted of
extensive grassy flats, having several lines of gum-timber traversing it, and occasionally forming into small
water-channels; the entire width of the river-bed here was between five and six miles. We went about three miles into
it, and had to encamp without water, none of the channels we had passed having any in. I sent Alec Ross still further
northwards, and he found a small rain water-hole two miles farther north-north-easterly; we went there on the following
morning. The grass and vegetation here, were very rich, high, and green. One of the little dogs, Queenie, in running
after some small game, was lost, and at night had not returned to the camp, nor was she there by the morning; but when
Saleh and Tommy went for the camels, they found her with them. I did not intend to ascend Mount Hale, but pushed for
Mount Gould, which bore north 55° east. After crossing the Murchison channel and flats — fine, grassy, and green — we
entered thickets of mulga, which continued for fifteen miles, until we arrived on the banks of a watercourse coming
from the north, towards the Murchison near Mount Hale, and traversing the country on the west side of Mount Gould.
Mount Gould and Mount Hale are about twenty-two miles apart, lying nearly north-north-east and south-south-west from
one another, and having the Murchison River running nearly east and west between, but almost under the northern foot of
Mount Hale. These two mounts were discovered by H.C. Gregory in 1858.

We reached the Mount Gould creek on the 22nd of April, and almost so soon as we appeared upon its banks, we flushed
up a whole host of natives who were living and hunting there. There were men, women, and children in scores. There was
little or no water in the many channels of the new creek; and as there appeared yet another channel near Mount Gould,
we went towards it; the natives surrounding us, yelling and gesticulating in the most excited state, but they were, so
to say, civil, and showed us some recent rain water in the channel at Mount Gould's foot, at which I fixed the camp. As
these were the same natives or members of the same tribes, that had murdered one if not both the young Clarksons, I
determined to be very guarded in my dealings with them. The men endeavoured to force their way into the camp several
times. I somewhat more forcibly repelled them with a stick, which made them very angry. As a rule, very few people like
being beaten with a stick, and these were no exception. They did not appear in the least degree afraid, or astonished,
at the sight of the camels. When they were hobbled out several of the men not only went to look at them, but began to
pull them about also, and laughed heartily and in chorus when a camel lay down for them. One or two could say a few
words of English, and said, “Which way walk? You Melbourne walk?” the magic name of Melbourne being even in these
people's mouths. This is to be accounted for by the fact that Mr. E. Wittenoom had returned from thence not long
before, and having taken a Cheangwa black boy with him, the latter had spread the news of the wonders he had seen in
the great metropolis, to the uttermost ends of the earth.

There was not very much water where we camped, but still ample for my time. The grass and herbage here were splendid
and green. When the men found I would not allow them to skulk about the camp, and apparently desired no intercourse
with them, some of them brought up first one, then another, and another, and another, very pretty young girls; the men
leading them by the hand and leaving them alone in the camp, and as it seemed to them that they were required to do or
say something, they began to giggle. The men then brought up some very nice-looking little boys. But I informed them
they might as well go; girls and boys went away together, and we saw nothing more of them that evening. This was a very
pretty and picturesque place. Mount Gould rose with rough and timbered sides to a pointed ridge about two miles from
the camp. The banks of the creek were shaded with pretty trees, and numerous acacia and other leguminous bushes dotted
the grassy flooded lands on either side of the creek. The beauty of the place could scarcely be enjoyed, as the weather
was so hot and the flies such awful plagues, that life was almost a misery, and it was impossible to obtain a moment's
enjoyment of the scene. The thermometer had stood at 103° in the shade in the afternoon, and at night the mosquitoes
were as numerous and almost more annoying than the flies in the day. The following day being Sunday, we rested, and at
a very early hour crowds of black men, women, boys, and child